Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
by angela bretagne
Summary: This is my take on the seventh book, based on clues scattered all through the other six books. I can't wait for the real book to come out to see if I'm close.   ASL please.
1. Chapter 1: Friends and Foes

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER ONE –**

**Friends and Foes**

The last touches of night fought valiantly against the first hazy glow of dawn peeking upwards from the horizon, casting a pale pink sheen over the dry flowerbeds beneath the front windows of number four, Privet Drive. In an upstairs bedroom, a tall, skinny youth with untidy black hair and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead lay fully clothed upon a bed, a pair of glasses hanging from one ear as he snored softly into his pillow.

Stacked by the bedroom door, as though someone had tried to tidy up, were several newspapers. Most of the front page of the top one was taken up by the headline, _DEATH OF A LEGEND,_ and an old black and white picture of an extremely lined face surrounded by very white, very long hair and beard. The man's eyes (which, had the photograph been colour, would have been pale blue) twinkled as they peered over the rim of a pair of half-moon spectacles; leaning back into a thronelike chair, he touched his index fingers together into a steeple and rested his chin lightly upon them.

The remainder of the room bore similar signs of trying to bring order to chaos. Beside a large open trunk were stacks of robes, socks and underwear. Leaning against a wardrobe door were three stacks of books and a very dirt-free broomstick. Beneath the window stood a large pewter cauldron. And on the bedside table stood a birdcage, empty except for an inch of droppings in its base.

The boy rolled onto his back, making his glasses unhook from his ear and fall to the floor with a soft thud. The sound, although muffled by the rug, was enough to make him wake with a start.

Harry Potter blinked hard to clear the sleep from his eyes. One hand reached out to the bedside table, groping around for his glasses, but instead, he knocked the cage, sending it crashing to the floor.

'BOY!'

Fully awake now, Harry jumped out of bed and had just snatched the cage up when his bedroom door flew open with a bang. He could just make out the large shape of his uncle through the blurry mist which was his normal vision.

'WHAT THE _HELL_ DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?' Vernon Dursley bellowed.

Harry instinctively took a step back. 'I was half awake and reached for my glasses and bumped the cage.' To confirm his story, he put the cage down on the bed, then again ran his hands over the surface of the bedside table, fingers searching like a blind man.

'Do you know what the time is?'

'Not clearly; not without my glasses.' Harry crouched down, searching the floor in case they had fallen with the cage.

'They're over here,' grunted Uncle Vernon, kicking them under the bed towards Harry. 'NOW, GET BACK TO SLEEP LIKE A _NORMAL_ PERSON!' He slammed the door behind him as he stormed back to the comfort of his own bed.

Harry shook his head as he put his glasses on. Ever since he had come to live with his Aunt Petunia, her husband, Vernon, and their son, Dudley, after his parents died, they had been trying to make him normal. And what was normal anyway? If normal meant being obsessed with appearance, cleanliness and wealth to the point of bullying, snobbery and gross obesity, then Harry was very glad he was a wizard.

Finally able to see clearly, he glanced at the alarm clock by his bed. The hands showed that it was ten to five. Sighing tiredly, Harry decided it wasn't worth going back to sleep; an owl would be arriving in ten minutes to deliver the_ Daily Prophet_, the newspaper detailing the happenings of the wizarding world.

Even though Harry had taken delivery of the _Prophet_ for a couple of years now, basically ever since Lord Voldemort – the darkest wizard for at least a century and the person who had orphaned Harry at the age of one – had returned, he had only ever skimmed his eyes briefly over the front page for any important news before tossing it aside. Now, he read each copy cover to cover, scouring every page for information, not just about Voldemort, but the Ministry of Magic, and the general wizarding community at large.

For Harry Potter was on a mission.

Throughout his last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, had taken Harry on a journey through Voldemort's life, teaching him about his nemesis's weaknesses and secrets. The reason why Voldemort had been impossible to kill was the darkest secret.

Horcruxes. Hidden objects containing fragments of Voldemort's soul. Six of them.

Two had already been destroyed, but there were four more to find and dispose of before Harry could even begin to think of destroying Voldemort. A few weeks ago, Harry had travelled with Dumbledore to find what should have been a third Horcrux – a locket – but which actually turned out to be a fake, the real Horcrux having already been recovered by someone with the initials R.A.B. Now Dumbledore was dead, murdered that same night by Harry's Potions teacher, Professor Snape, leaving Harry alone to find the remaining four. And in order to do that, he needed information; every piece of information he could get his hands on, no matter how insignificant or silly it might seem.

A light tapping on the window announced the arrival of the newspaper. Gathering up several bronze coins from his trunk, Harry paid the owl. Just as he was about to close the window, a sparrow flew in and landed on the end of the bed. It had been a fairly regular visitor over the last few weeks and, desperate for company when his pet owl, Hedwig, wasn't around, Harry hadn't discouraged it at all. With a thatch of frizzy feathers covering its head and neck, it had reminded him of one of his best friends, Hermione Granger and so, even though he had no idea if the bird was female or not, he had named it Hermione.

Giving the sparrow a brief smile, he settled down by the window to start yet another day of reading, cross-referencing and theorising.

_x_

'NOT AGAIN!' bellowed Uncle Vernon, jolting Harry from his enclosed world. 'THAT'S IT! I'M NOT HAVING ANY MORE _BLASTED_ OWLS IN THIS HOUSE!'

Harry heard heavy footsteps thundering loudly up the stairs, then Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bedroom door slammed open. He slowly opened his own door a fraction, being careful not to let it creak. He could hear Uncle Vernon muttering under his breath and rummaging for something in the wardrobe.

'Right!' Uncle Vernon came marching out of his room, a new shotgun swinging in one hand. Gripping his wand tightly, Harry stepped out in front of him.

'_Out_ _of my way, boy!'_

With an effort, Harry dragged his eyes from the gun's barrel up to Uncle Vernon's purple face. 'What's Hedwig supposed to have done now?' He was surprised his voice wasn't shaking.

'I'm not talking about _your_ ruddy bird. I meant the one downstairs.' He jerked the shotgun towards the stairs.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, frowning. 'What owl downstairs?' but he spoke to a retreating back as Uncle Vernon pushed past and thumped down the staircase, heaving great breaths as he went. There was no room for Harry to pass him and get downstairs first, so he settled for keeping pace four steps above his uncle, just out of reach.

On reaching the entry, Harry was surprised when Uncle Vernon entered the living room; he could hear one of Dudley's favourite programs playing on the television, along with whimpering, but no sound which might have been made by an owl. Had it flown away?

Following him, Harry entered the living room and promptly made a hiccoughing sound as he struggled not to laugh.

His cousin, Dudley, was hanging half out of the open window. It looked like he had tried to climb (probably hastily) backwards through the window, but a life being indulged by his parents had left him the size of a small whale, and his very over-proportioned behind was wedged between the window-frames. Aunt Petunia was tugging both his arms but Dudley wasn't budging an inch. Instead, he whimpered each time she pulled, the whole time staring terrified at a large grey owl perched placidly on top of the television.

Uncle Vernon brought the shotgun up to his shoulder, aiming at the bored-looking bird. Harry hurried past to stand between them.

'Out of my way, boy!' he barked.

'No.' Harry brought his wand up to the same level as the gun.

'You don't scare me, boy,' said Uncle Vernon, starting to shake with fear. 'Do you want that old crackpot to throw you out of that school of yours?'

'Who said I was going back?'

That caught Aunt Petunia's attention.

'What do you mean, you're not going back? You're not staying here.' ('Like I'd want to,' muttered Harry.) 'You haven't finished school yet. You won't be able to get a job, even with _your_ lot, if you don't graduate.'

'I'm not paying for a wastrel to laze around doing nothing.' Uncle Vernon was turning puce again. 'I've spent more than enough money on you over the years, but not one penny more. You're going back to that school of yours and graduate so you can get a job and start to pay us back.'

'Why would …' Dudley didn't seem able to say the word 'wizards' and settled for waving his hand at Harry. 'Why would they need to go to work and get money? I thought they'd just –' He clicked his fingers. 'And what about the gold your godfather left you?'

'That's right, boy. There are all those gold bars. Now hand them over!' Uncle Vernon raised the gun menacingly.

'You have absolutely no idea, have you?' Harry shook his head. 'Wizards –' (there was a chorus of squawks from the Dursleys) '– don't just wave their wands and conjure up great heaps of money. Magic money dissolves into nothing. We're just like you; we have to go out and earn our money the same as you do. We have rich and poor people the same as in your world. Why do you think the Weasleys always look so second-hand? Mr Weasley might work at the Ministry, but the department he worked for wasn't considered very important, so he didn't get paid as much as some of the others who work there. Then, once it paid for seven kids, it didn't go very far. If they could just wave their wands and get everything they wanted, they'd be a lot richer.

'Other Muggle families are usually thrilled to have a witch or wizard in the family and enjoy learning about our world and how it works, but not you. Oh no.' A small part of Harry felt he was probably being churlish, but he didn't care; he had put up with the Dursleys for sixteen years and it was time for some payback. 'You've gone out of your way to make my life hell, abusing and neglecting me. If the roles had been reversed and Dudley had been raised by my parents and they had spoiled me, feeding me heaps of sweet and fatty foods while almost starving Dudley; if they'd given me every toy imaginable for presents while only giving Dudley stuff like used tissues; if they let me punch and beat up Dudley all the time but never punished me for it, instead they just locked Dudley in a cupboard if he dared to cry about it, you two would be as mad as hell.'

'_And rightly so!'_ Uncle Vernon was a very deep shade of magenta now. 'But then, we wouldn't expect anything less from no-gooders like your parents. Lazy, good-for-nothing –'

'You still won't get it, will you?' Harry was really into his stride now. 'This is what Dumbledore was trying to tell you about last summer. Look at Dudley.' He pointed towards the window. 'Even with a diet and the exercising he did with his boxing, he's still way too fat. And now he's got his enormous fat backside stuck in a window. All because _you_ taught him to be scared of a postal service.'

'_That's_ not a postal service; it's … it's …' Uncle Vernon struggled to come up a word which described just what he thought it was. '_Real_ mail gets delivered by a postman. It gets taken to the post office in a delivery van, sorted, flown from one end of the country to the other if necessary – by _aeroplane_, not birds – then a postman walks up to the front door, posts it through the _letter-box_, and rings the bell, all nice and polite; he doesn't _toss it in your face._'

Harry leant back against the telly, his arms crossed. 'And how much does all that cost?'

'What?'

'You get all of what you just said – the use of all that equipment, fuel and staff – all for the cost of a stamp.'

'Your lot get to send your letters for free; just stick it in an owl's beak and send it on its way. You don't have to go out and earn the money to pay for a stamp.'

'A stamp worth how many _shillings_?' countered Harry. 'Sure, we don't have to pay for stamps. We just have to go to Eyelops Owl Emporium, pay for a specially-trained owl – you can't use wild owls – feed it, care for it and keep its cage clean. And, of course all of that doesn't cost a single shilling. It just costs G_alleons, Sickles _and _Knuts_; money my parents _worked_ for!'

'_Nuts?_ That's not British currency. What are you … squirrels?' Uncle Vernon attempted a laugh. 'No _normal_ person would deal with such stupid-sounding nonsense.'

'Hermione's parents manage OK; they're Muggles. And anyway, what's wrong with non-British currencies. The rest of the world deals in non-British money and they get by.'

'Foreigners, the lot of them!'

'Including people from Texas?' asked Harry quietly.

That stopped Uncle Vernon. Since Harry had gotten back from Hogwarts, Uncle Vernon had bored them all silly with a running commentary of his progress trying to win a large contract for Grunnings, the drill-making company he worked for. A Dallas oil company had recently bought a rig in the North Sea and was looking for a firm which would be able to keep it adequately supplied with drills – long term. The contract would be worth a _lot_ of American dollars. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to think those non-British millions worth scorning.

Harry took advantage of his uncle's momentary silence. Turning to face the television (and trying to ignore the fact that there was a shotgun aimed at his back), he untied the gold ribbon holding a gilt-edged scroll to the owl's leg. The large eyes blinked at him with an expression which clearly said, 'About time!' Harry dug in the pocket of his jeans for one of Hedwig's owl treats, then the mysterious bird gave another blink, spread its wings, and soared through the open window. Dudley cried out and batted his ham-shaped arms in the owl's general direction, but didn't come close to touching it.

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the throat with one hand. _'What did that ruddy bird want?'_ he demanded.

Taken by surprise, Harry dropped the scroll and it rolled under his uncle's foot, breaking the heart-shaped seal.

Suddenly the room was filled with a soft warm breeze (Uncle Vernon let go of Harry so suddenly, he almost fell onto the television), gently blowing millions of tiny gold lights together into the centre of the room, forming two large human shapes. When all of the pinpoints had coalesced, the shapes solidified, becoming a disfigured, red-haired man and a young woman of extraordinary beauty. They stood facing each other, holding hands, heavenly voices singing softly in the background.

As yellow rose petals floated gently down upon the room, a solo voice sang above the cherubic choir:

_Madame Cecile Delacour _

_Invites thee to witness her daughter, Fleur _

_Join William Weasley in the ceremony Of most sacred matrimony._

_Thus, as the eighth month is reborn_

_On the day named for ringed Saturn_

_When soleil marks the hour of three_

_Heed well this song and gather ye_

_At Hogwarts school in northern Britain_

_To see these lovers, deeply smitten,_

_Vow to all that none shall part_

_This union wrought upon their hearts. _

The accompanying voices continued to croon quietly for ten seconds until Bill and Fleur sparkled into millions of tiny lights before fading into nothing, then the music also faded away, leaving the room with only a carpet of rose petals as evidence that the vision had not been imagined.

'She's beautiful.'

Harry glanced around at Uncle Vernon. He had taken a step towards the centre of the room and was reaching a hand out, as if to stroke Fleur's now-vanished silvery-blonde hair. The shotgun hung limply by his side. Aunt Petunia threw him a dangerous look.

Fighting off his own punch-drunkenness (he hated it when any part of Fleur was suddenly sprung on him, even an image), Harry glanced around curiously at Dudley, and grinned when he saw that his cousin was also staring, unblinking, at the spot where Fleur had been, his mouth hanging open. Harry had never seen him drool over anything other than food before.

'That girl can't possibly be natural,' tsked Aunt Petunia. She was still glaring at Uncle Vernon.

'Don't worry,' Harry tried not to laugh as he glanced back at her husband. 'He hasn't got a chance. She's only got eyes for Bill. But you're right about her not being quite natural; her grandmother was a Veela.'

'What's that?' Aunt Petunia tasted the word like it was sour milk.

Harry cast around for a comparison his aunt would understand. 'A bit like the Sirens.'

Aunt Petunia looked even more frightened.

Harry picked up the scroll and brushed Uncle Vernon's shoeprint from the crushed parchment. Unrolling it, he saw it was covered in ornate gold lettering, detailing the song they had just heard, and decorated with gold cherubs flying around the edge.

'What happened to that man's face?' Aunt Petunia grunted. She had resumed her tug of war with Dudley, who was jolted out of his stupor by the renewed pain.

'He was attacked by a werewolf,' answered Harry absently. He frowned at the invitation, trying to understand it. First Saturday of August at three o'clock in the afternoon was easy enough, but why was the wedding being held at Hogwarts? Shouldn't it be in France?

While Harry puzzled over this, Dudley bellowed in the background each time Aunt Petunia tugged. It was starting to make Harry's ears hurt. Pulling his wand out, he said 'Step aside; I'll fix him,' but Aunt Petunia spread her arms across Dudley, trying to hide him from Harry but failing dismally.

'It's all right, Duddums; I won't let him hurt you.'

'I'm not going to hurt him.' Harry shouted slightly to make himself heard over Dudley's wailing. 'I'll just move the window-frame a bit so you can get him out easily, then the frame can shrink back into place. Nobody gets hurt, Dudley gets free, and you can shut the window so no more owls can get in.'

Aunt Petunia looked undecided. She clearly didn't want anything connected with the wizarding world in her house (and owls and spell-casting fitted into that category), but she also would have realised that Dudley wasn't going to budge without major, _costly_ damage to the window. Letting Harry give his wand a quick flick would be a lot cheaper.

She bit her lip as she threw her husband (who was still staring at empty air) a nervous glance, but before she could make up her mind, there was a bright flash, the sound of timber snapping, and Dudley suddenly shot from the window like a bullet, knocking his mother over.

Uncle Vernon finally snapped out of his trance and dived at Harry, but hadn't quite reached him when the doorbell rang. Both he and Aunt Petunia exchanged panicked looks (Harry was pretty sure they were thinking that one of the neighbours had come to investigate the commotion), then Uncle Vernon straightened up and leered evilly at Harry.

'That'll be your lot come to arrest you for doing _illegal_ acts on normal people. So …' he grabbed the neckband of Harry's T-shirt, '_they can have you!_' He dragged Harry out to the hall as Aunt Petunia quickly shut the window.

Dudley, who had been stumbling from the room with his hands pressed against his behind, suddenly retreated when he realised wizards were possibly about to come through the front door, and tried to dissolve into the corner unnoticed, still clutching his backside and blubbering like a baby.

Uncle Vernon wrenched the front door open as the doorbell rang a second time.

'_All right! There's no need for you to _–'

He stopped mid-word, his mouth hanging open in shock. He found himself staring at a wand pointed directly at his face and held, not by a Ministry of Magic official (or even a Hogwarts teacher), but by an adolescent female with bushy brown hair and fiery sparks in her eyes. The only times Harry had ever seen Hermione Granger that angry, it had never boded well for the person on the receiving end of her ire.

'Are you OK, Harry?' Her eyes flicked briefly to Harry, taking in the beefy hand almost wrenching his T-shirt over his head. Uncle Vernon let go with a yelp, as though he had been stung.

'Hi, Harry.' Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley, threw Harry a wide grin as he followed Hermione through the doorway. Tall, lean and red-haired like his brother, he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the show.

'You … you can't do any of that mumbo-jumbo nonsense here,' squeaked Uncle Vernon (Harry knew his fear wouldn't last). The piggy eyes hadn't moved from Hermione's wand. 'You're kids! You're not allowed!' He backed into the living room.

'Actually, we're not kids – Oh good.' Ron's grin widened as he spotted the rose petals. 'The invitation did beat us here. We weren't sure if it would or not.'

'What do you mean _you're not kids_?' Uncle Vernon beat a hasty retreat over to his wife, almost tripping over a footstool on the way; he seemed to have forgotten his son cowering in the corner.

'Meaning, they're legally adults,' Harry explained. He wasn't worried about being punished for any insolence; if Ron and Hermione were here, then it probably meant he was leaving _very_ soon.

Uncle Vernon's eyes darted between Harry and Hermione's wand several times. 'And you're here to take this boy with you?'

'Of course,' said Hermione.

Uncle Vernon pulled himself up to his full height.

'Then take him. Go on, he's all yours."

That took even Harry by surprise.

'You're not going to stop them taking me?'

Uncle Vernon hitched up his trousers importantly. 'Why should I? If they're here to apprehend you, who am I to stand in the way of law enforcement. It's high time someone made you pay for all the unnatural evil you've been doing to us for years. Well, go on,' he barked at Ron, leaning against the door. 'Arrest him!'

'Why would we arrest Harry?' Hermione's wand lowered slightly.

'Because he's been breaking your laws. Even that old coot, last summer, said he has to be seventeen. And he's not; he's still got two weeks to go. So … go on …' He waved his hand at Hermione's wand. 'Throw the book at him.'

Hermione frowned at Harry, puzzled. 'What laws have you been breaking?'

'None –'

'LIAR!' Uncle Vernon was starting to turn purple again. 'Look what you did to Dudley, giving him a tail again. Then there's the window – that'll need repairing.'

Ron and Hermione glanced from Dudley, still whimpering and grasping his rear end, to the window, which didn't have so much as a chip in the paint.

'And you did something to your uncle, making him go funny over that … that … _hussy_!' hissed Aunt Petunia.

Hermione looked really confused. 'What hussy?'

'Fleur.' Harry scratched his nose, embarrassed. 'Apparently even just a picture of her can affect you. And Uncle Vernon was rather besotted.' He struggled not to laugh.

'But why did you give your cousin a tail?'

'I didn't; I don't know what happened there. I'd just offered to get Dudley unstuck from the window when he suddenly shot halfway across the room.'

'_You see, he admits –'_

'That was me,' stated Hermione.

'_YOU broke the window?'_ Uncle Vernon stabbed a fat finger at the window.

'Oh, and I fixed that too,' added Hermione as he gaped at the unbroken window.

'YOU DID YOUR NONSENSE IN MY HOUSE?' Uncle Vernon was the deepest shade of purple Harry had ever seen 'WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?' He lunged at Hermione.

But didn't reach her. He was airborne when he suddenly stopped in midair and just hung there.

'_Vernon!'_

'_Daddy!'_

Both Aunt Petunia and Dudley were startled into action but had barely advanced when they, too, were stopped in their tracks.

Harry looked around the living room. It looked exactly like someone had paused a video.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'Freezing Charm.' Hermione pocketed her wand.

Ron crouched down, peering closely at the back of Dudley's trousers. 'Where's his tail?'

'There isn't one anymore,' snorted Harry. 'Hagrid tried to turn him into a pig when we first met, but he was so much like one already, all he got added was a tail. Uncle Vernon had to pay heaps for a doctor in London to cut it off. When Hermione unplugged him from the window, because the spell hit him from behind, he probably thought he was getting another tail.'

'_He cut it off?'_ Ron stared at Harry with a look of fascinated horror. 'What, you mean –?' He made a scissor movement with his fingers. Harry nodded. 'And Muggles reckon _we're_ weird.'

'So, are you packed yet?' asked Hermione.

'No,' Harry laughed. 'I didn't know you were coming, did I? Is Ron's dad waiting outside?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged guilty glances.

'Er …'

'What?' Harry glanced from one to the other, his grin starting to fade.

'Dad doesn't know we're here.' Ron had become very interested in the pattern on the rug.

'Then how did you two get here?'

'We Apparated,' said Hermione. 'What? I've passed my test.'

'But Ron hasn't and you haven't been taught how to do Side-Along.'

'Oh, and I suppose you have.' Hermione crossed her arms.

'What? No, of course I haven't.'

'But you still managed to bring Dumbledore back the night he died.'

And suddenly, they were talking about the one thing Harry didn't want to talk about. His face must have displayed the shocked turmoil echoing inside his head because Ron said, 'What did you have to go and do that for?' to Hermione.

Hermione's hands were covering her mouth, her frightened eyes peering over the top of them. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean …' She turned bright red. Ron was watching him closely. Harry cast around for a different topic.

'So, you Apparated Side-Along. How'd it go?' He started to lead them up to his room.

'No problems,' Hermione's voice struggled to throw off the last of her embarrassment. 'Nothing to it.'

Ron snorted.

'What?' Hermione rounded on him as they reached the landing.

'Nothing.' Ron worked hard to swallow a grin. 'I didn't say anything. I wouldn't insinuate anything bad about you (like that it took you four goes to get us past the front gate) would I, Harry?'

It was rather fortunate that they had reached his bedroom, because Harry needed to hold the doorknob for support, he was laughing so hard. Hermione pushed past him angrily, waving her wand at the room in general. Suddenly, every book scattered about the room rose up as one and flew at both Harry and Ron, flapping in their faces until they were no longer laughing.

'OK, Hermione, we're sorry. We're sorry! Aren't we, Ron?' Harry threw Ron a meaningful look, jerking his head very slightly towards his room.

'What?' Ron grabbed at one of the books and got bitten for his effort. 'Ow … yeah. We're sorry.'

The books suddenly dropped to the floor with a thud.

'Finally,' Ron muttered under his breath as he followed Harry into the bedroom.

Hermione was sitting on the end of the bed, flicking her wand irritably, and making Harry's possessions fly jerkily over to his trunk one by one. Harry bent down and picked up the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, but didn't toss it into the trunk yet; he just stood watching Hermione.

'Are you OK?' he asked quietly.

'Yeah.' Harry was shocked to see Hermione blink back tears. 'I'm just missing Dumbledore, I guess. I was thinking about him when we went to come here because all I had for a reference for Side-Along-Apparition was your description of when you did it with him. So I had trouble focusing properly.'

'Is that any reason to attack Harry and me?' Ron was still wringing his hand. Hermione stood up angrily.

'Whoa! Time out!' Harry jumped between them and tried to hold them apart. 'Come on. I was responsible for Dumbledore dying; I don't want to be to blame for you two splitting up, too.'

Both Ron and Hermione instantly stopped glaring daggers at each other.

'How were you responsible for Dumbledore's death?' cried Ron.

'I didn't stop Snape killing him, did I?'

'But Dumbledore did the Body-Bind curse on you. Of course you couldn't have stopped Snape,' countered Hermione.

'I still should have stopped him escaping,' muttered Harry, guilt squeezing his chest. 'Look, can we talk about something else?'

They both stared at him a moment before Ron finally said, 'Yeah … sure … what do you want to talk about, then?'

Harry glanced from one to the other, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

'Have you two kissed in front of your mum yet?' he asked, then threw his arms up, laughing, as more books flew at him.

Getting his stuff packed didn't take long once Hermione had cheered up. Several waves of her wand, and all of his possessions not only soared from every nook and cranny, but also folded and slotted neatly into the trunk. Ron had dodged helping too much by going in search of food (Harry had suggested raiding Dudley's room, as his cousin wouldn't be able to admit anything was missing), then Ron had leant against the door, munching a Mars Bar as Hermione tidied up all of Dudley's spare and broken belongings, as well as the room in general, in between suggestions that Ron could help too. ('Why? You're doing fine without me!')

Finally, Harry gently laid his Firebolt on top of his father's Cloak.

'Harry,' Hermione had a determined air about her as he shut the trunk's lid. Harry immediately felt apprehensive. 'Can I have a word with you?'

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron's head turn. Hermione looked pointedly at Ron.

'In private?'

Ron tensed. 'What do you want to tell Harry that you don't want me to hear?'

'Nothing.' Hermione stretched her arm around Ron's back and began to steer him towards the hallway. 'It just doesn't concern you, that's all.' Reaching the door, she forcefully pushed him through, quickly shut the door and cast both a Locking and Imperturbable Charm upon it so Ron couldn't eavesdrop.

Harry's nervousness increased. 'Er, Hermione …' He took an unconscious step backwards as Hermione turned back to face the room, wand still at the ready. 'I doubt you could say anything to me that Ron won't hear.'

'Oh, he'll find out about it … eventually. I just want you to hear it first.' She was smiling a very secretive smile and eyeing Harry as if taking his measure.

'I mean,' she continued, now starting to wander slowly around the room, running her finger along shelves as if checking for dust (Harry was reminded of Aunt Petunia), 'you are determined _not_ to return to Hogwarts next term, correct?'

Harry nodded.

'And you _do _own Sirius's house, so we could always hide there …'

Harry's brows were almost joined, he was frowning so deeply. He really couldn't see where this was going.

'… and even if the Ministry did manage to catch us, Azkaban can't be quite the hellhole it used to be now the Dementors have left.'

Harry's insides felt like cement – why was she talking about being sent to prison?

Hermione stopped pacing and leant upon the windowsill, facing him.

'You are equally determined never to return to this house?'

Harry nodded very slowly, anxiety rushing through his veins.

'Then this is our last chance.'

As the quiet words died, Harry suddenly saw what she was talking about. Panic coursed through him.

'We can't, we're under –'

'You're underage, Harry,' Hermione cut him off. 'But _I'm not!_'

'But you could get into really serious trouble. I won't let you, not a witch of your calibre. I won't let you! Our world needs you too much. _I_ need you too much. I need you to help me figure out how to defeat Voldemort.'

There! He had said it! Despite his protestations after Dumbledore's funeral three weeks ago, he honestly couldn't see how he was supposed to manage this journey alone. He needed Hermione's brains, resources and talent as much as he needed Ron's friendship to get him through the enormous task ahead.

Hermione was watching him closely, a mischievous twitch playing at the corner of her mouth. 'We'll work it out. So tell me, what do your aunt, uncle and cousin love more than anything else?'

Harry returned her gaze for a moment, then let his eyes focus on the window behind her. _How could he possibly be considering this?_

'Aunt Petunia loves to clean, to have the most perfectly presented house in the street, if not the world.'

Hermione's smirk started to widen.

'Uncle Vernon loves money and power,' Harry ploughed on. 'He's always bullying the people who work for him, and he has to have the biggest, best, latest and most expensive of everything.'

Hermione's eyes developed a malicious gleam. Harry suddenly wasn't so sure.

'And Dudley loves lots of things – bullying, punching people smaller than him, being spoilt with lots of presents. But mostly food. Junk food. He was unbearable when he was on that diet, not that it did much good; well, you saw him before. Aunt Petunia gave him lots more than me, trying to make him feel better, but he was still sneaking sweets and stuff behind her back.'

'Any other vices?'

'Yeah, he's branched out to drinking with his mates.' Harry definitely didn't like the look on Hermione's face. 'Look, I don't want you to get into trouble on my account.'

'I wouldn't be getting into trouble. They'd have to find me first.'

Harry blinked. 'Grimmauld Place?' Hermione nodded. 'But it's still Headquarters.' He could see the problem immediately. 'What if one of the Order turns you in? I wouldn't put it past Scrimgeour to do a deal with Mundungus in return for something to barter with to get me to come over to his way of thinking.'

Hermione considered this for a moment. 'I'll hide somewhere the Ministry can't get to, say, the Chamber of Secrets.' (Harry's jaw dropped.) 'Or the Room of Requirement; a Room of _my_ choosing.'

'And how would you eat?' Harry couldn't believe he was continuing this debate.

'Dobby!' said Hermione simply. Dobby was a house-elf who, after enduring years of abuse at the hands of the Malfoys – a wizarding family in the same class as the Dursleys – had been freed from his enslavement by Harry and now worked in the Hogwarts kitchens. Hermione was well known for her support of better conditions for house-elves and had even set up a group called the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare – S.P.E.W.

She continued to watch him, waiting. Harry didn't want to condemn Hermione to the sort of life his godfather, Sirius Black, had lived, but the carrot she was dangling before him was very tempting … and it would be their last chance.

Taking a steadying breath, he finally nodded.

Suddenly businesslike, Hermione gripped her wand firmly. 'You'd best let Ron in before he blows a gasket,' she said, waving it at the bedroom door. 'But don't tell him anything yet – that way he won't have to embarrass his dad and lie to the Ministry. I'll be back in a moment.' And with a _crack_, she Apparated downstairs.

A loud crash sounded behind him. Ron was lying face down through the now-open doorway.

'Can someone please tell me what's going on?' his muffled voice demanded into the rug.

_x_

'What did you do to them?' asked Ron for the fiftieth time since they came downstairs.

Hermione ignored him as she continued writing what looked like a letter. She finally finished with a flourish of her wrist and then replaced the pen in Uncle Vernon's pocket. Returning to the letter, she touched her wand to it. The letter folded itself tightly into a small square, turning bright red as it did so.

Ron's jaw dropped. 'You … you just made a _Howler_?'

'Don't worry about it, Ron,' Hermione soothed. 'It won't hurt them.' Looking around the room, she gave a slight nod of satisfaction at her work.

Harry glanced around. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were still in exactly the same positions they had been in when Hermione had Frozen them earlier, making it impossible for them to stop her performing magic upon them. He wondered how large the explosion would be when they realised what had just happened. Part of him wanted to witness their dilemma, but experience had taught him that this probably wouldn't be wise. Best to just get out of there – fast – before Ministry owls started arriving. He was surprised they weren't buried under a pile of official letters already, with all the magic Hermione had been doing in the last half hour.

Suppressing the excitement starting to build in the pit of his stomach, he suddenly realised – this was it! He was finally leaving the Dursleys for good.

He thought back to a year ago when Dumbledore had sat in this room and Harry had had the distinct feeling that he had enjoyed forcing the Dursleys to realise how rude they were. Well, what Hermione had just done was going to be so much more delicious. Yes, they really did need to leave.

Leading the others out to the hall, he glanced down at his trunk. 'I suppose I could levitate it to Mrs Figg's. She should be able to get someone from the Order of the Phoenix to take it to Grimmauld Place.'

'Who's Mrs Figg?' Ron wanted to know.

'She's an old lady who lives around in Wisteria Walk.' As Ron's face still looked puzzled, Harry added, 'A Squib.'

Ron looked aghast. 'And Dumbledore let her live near you?'

'I think he might have put her here deliberately, to watch over me. She's the one who helped me when those Dementors were here two years ago; she was a witness at my hearing.'

While Ron digested this information, Hermione queried, 'Won't it seem a bit odd if any Muggles look out and see your trunk floating down the street?'

Harry thought on this problem a moment. 'I wonder …'

Opening his trunk, he removed his Invisibility Cloak then, crossing his fingers, draped it over the trunk. Almost immediately, both Cloak and trunk vanished. Grinning at Hermione, he said, 'I think that takes care of the problem.'

He pointed his wand at the invisible trunk, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

'Let me,' she said, intoning _'Locomotor Trunk'_ before anyone could stop her. Glancing at Harry, she arched a brow. 'Ready?'

As Harry opened the front door, he instructed, 'Keep your wands at the ready, just in case. Hopefully, it won't be necessary, but … well, it's better to be safe than sorry.'

Looking around one last time, he took a deep breath, then followed Ron and Hermione out into the night.

_x_

'Where did you say this woman lives?' Ron panted slightly as they turned into Wisteria Walk.

'Number sixteen.'

'That should be up the other end.' Hermione pointed, making the trunk bump into the back of Ron's legs.

'Can't you steer that thing properly?' Ron rounded on her.

'Careful,' warned Harry as number three peered out from behind their curtains.

Still muttering angrily under his breath, Ron dragged his feet until the trunk had gone past him, bringing up the rear as they headed up to Mrs Figg's front door. Harry's fist was raised, about to knock, when the door swung open.

Nobody was standing on the other side.

Tightening his grip on his wand, Harry muttered, 'Keep your eyes open,' to Ron and Hermione, then carefully stepped across the threshold. All three of them got inside and halfway down the hall when the front door slammed behind them. Ron swore, Hermione screamed and Harry yelled, but none of them managed to do anything more than spin back towards the front door when all of their wands were suddenly snatched from their hands and flew across the entrance to a red-haired young man Harry realised was Percy Weasley.

'Give those back!' Ron took a step towards his brother but the man standing beside Percy (Harry recognised him as a Ministry employee named Dawlish, even if he did have a fresh cut across his face) flicked his wand and Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves slammed against the wall opposite the staircase, hands wrenched roughly behind their backs and forced into something made of very heavy metal.

'We've got them, sir,' Percy called out.

Cheek pressed hard against the floral wallpaper, it was a moment before Harry could see who belonged to the footsteps coming from the kitchen, but the heavy limp left him in little doubt. The Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spent a moment looking each of them up and down (Harry fought hard to suppress a sneeze as Scrimgeour's great mane of hair brushed his face, tickling him), then he said 'Bring them,' and led the way into the living room.

'I guess you were right; they _were_ coming.' Mrs Figg stared at them in surprise. She was standing to one side of the room, cuffed like Harry, Ron and Hermione. Three cats were curled up on the sofa; whether they were dead or merely sleeping, Harry couldn't tell, but he thought he knew where Dawlish's scratch had come from.

'This act shall not lessen the charges against you, Mrs Figg.' Scrimgeour took up position in front of the fireplace.

'What charges?' demanded Ron indignantly, trying to wriggle out of what looked like a pair of medieval manacles. Scrimgeour cleared his throat as Percy raised his quill.

'Harry Potter,' the Minister began in an official tone. Harry glared at him. 'You are under arrest, in accordance with the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy, for illegally performing Dark magic upon the Muggle inhabitants of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, in full view of said Muggles and in spite of being reprimanded for previously performing unlawful underage magic.'

'He didn't perform –' Hermione tried to explain but Scrimgeour cut across her.

'Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger,' he continued. 'You are under arrest for aiding and abetting the accused in his law-breaking.'

'Hang on!' Ron glared at the Minister. 'Hermione told you, Harry didn't –'

'Mrs Arabella Figg.' Scrimgeour raised his voice so he could be heard over Ron. 'You are under arrest for assisting the accused in their efforts to escape justice.'

'I already told you, _I didn't know they were coming!_' protested Mrs Figg, but the note of panic in her voice seemed to confirm Scrimgeour's presumption of guilt.

'Sentence shall be passed at a hearing tomorrow morning, then you shall be returned to Azkaban prison to serve out your sentences.'

'_Returned?_' squeaked Mrs Figg. 'You're not taking us there before you find out if there's a need, surely? We haven't done anything!'

But Scrimgeour wasn't listening. Roaming about the living room, he picked up various ornaments, peering closely at them before returning them to their resting places, finally settling on a large antique lamp sitting in the centre of the mantelpiece.

'You put that back down! That was a wedding present! If you break –'

Scrimgeour touched his wand to the lamp, which glowed blue momentarily.

'_You can't!_' Mrs Figg's angry indignation gave way to pure panic.

'What happened to innocent until proven guilty?' Harry took a step forwards but was pulled back by Dawlish.

Scrimgeour set the lamp on the coffee table, still ignoring the protests of his prisoners. Percy stuffed his quill and parchment into his robes and reached a hand towards the newly-created Portkey. Dawlish gave his wand another tweak; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Mrs Figg were pulled into a tight circle (their hands banged painfully against each other as their restraints tangled together) as Dawlish grabbed hold of Harry's arm with one hand and the lamp with the other.

Before anyone could say another word, Scrimgeour activated the Portkey and they were away.


	2. Chapter 2: Darkness Beyond Sufferance

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWO –**

**Darkness beyond Sufferance **

'OUCH!'

Harry blinked the last of the whirlwind of colour from his vision as he was roughly pulled to his feet. The manacles bit into his wrists as Dawlish tweaked his wand, dragging the four of them towards a tall dark stone building. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that they had landed on the edge of the highest cliff he had ever seen (not that he had seen many cliffs) and understood why Dawlish had pulled so hard; they had been about to fall over the edge. Turning back, he got his first view of Azkaban prison.

Standing half as tall as Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower, it looked like a plain stone box. No windows or doors marked the individual cells, nor did there appear to be any drains or outlets of any kind. The walls were dark, contrasting starkly with centuries of salt rime encrusted in every crack. The stone itself was unlike any Harry had seen before, cut far more smoothly than the stone blocks used in medieval castles or even Hogwarts and this, coupled with the salt, made the walls impossible to scale physically. What enchantments were also protecting the perimeter, further thwarting escape, he could only guess.

Although most of the cliff top was rock, Harry noticed an area to one side which contained sufficient soil to sprout a few weeds, and a small part of his mind wondered fleetingly if that area was where Voldemort's uncle, Morfin Gaunt was buried. The rest of his mind was absorbed with the fact that they had reached the entrance.

Tall and square like the rest of the building, the edges were cut in such a way that it seemed to have been an afterthought, as if the original architects had intended for the prison's inmates to be permanently sealed in. A steel portcullis filled the cavity, its bars no further apart than the width of Harry's clenched fist. He shuddered at the memory of Sirius saying he had been thin enough to squeeze between the bars and felt a surge of hot anger towards the man who had been responsible for Sirius spending twelve years within these walls. Then he looked up and the anger's heat turned to ice.

Each of the eighteen stones wedged tightly together to stretch above the width of the gateway had a single word carved deep into its surface:

_Despair thy darkness marked beyond all sufferance for ne'er shalt light shine more upon the evil thus contained._

Harry wasn't certain if it was a spell, a warning, or just stating a fact. All he knew was that it did not bode well … and he didn't like it.

Light certainly wasn't shining upon them. Even though it was a clear night with no cloud cover, there were no stars or moon to be seen anywhere. It was almost like the night, two years ago, when Dementors had tried to attack Dudley and himself, but there weren't any Dementors here, not now. They had long since deserted their posts and joined Voldemort. Perhaps the lack of heavenly bodies was part of the magic of Azkaban – potential escapees wouldn't be able to find north, so would not know in which direction sanctuary lay.

As Scrimgeour tapped the portcullis with his wand (a very deep sound, like a gong, seemed to vibrate up from the rock beneath their feet), Harry glanced across at the others. Ron looked like Harry felt – as pale as a ghost, Hermione seemed to have lost some of her confidence (even without any Dementors, it still seemed like a hellhole), Mrs Figg was on the verge of collapse. Harry wasn't certain if Azkaban was protected by the same charm which stopped Muggles seeing Hogwarts or not, but as that didn't seem to work on the Hogwarts caretaker Mr Filch, as a Squib, Mrs Figg could probably see what the rest of them could. And it was having a devastating effect on her.

Percy poked his wand hard in the middle of Mrs Figg's back to make her stop muttering incoherently (Ron forgot his own problems long enough to throw a dirty look in his brother's direction), then he glanced across at Harry.

'You've only got yourself to blame, you know.' (Harry noticed Ron turning red.) 'You should have done what the Minister requested instead of throwing in your lot with Dumbledore. He was never very good at abiding by the law – lying to the Ministry, attacking Aurors and raising an army against the Minister – and you've been getting yourself tarred with the same brush. First you break rules left right and centre at Hogwarts,' (Harry bit his tongue very hard to stop himself saying anything) 'as well as associating with escaped murderers and lying about being attacked by Dementors, and now you go and curse a group of Mug –'

Harry blinked. Percy was lying on the ground several feet away, blood pouring from a broken nose into his mouth and down his chin. He dazedly spat out a mouthful of blood and a couple of teeth landed on the ground beside him. Ron, whose face was mulberry by now, was being forced against the stone wall at wandpoint as Dawlish looked across at the Minister for further instructions. Unable to punch Percy because of the manacles binding his wrists, Ron had sunk his foot into his brother's face with a kick which would have done any Muggle football team proud.

'Don't make matters worse for yourself, Weasley; you're in enough trouble as it is.' Scrimgeour told Ron as he tapped Percy's nose with his wand to stop the bleeding, then helped him to his feet. 'And to make certain it doesn't happen again …' Scrimgeour waved his wand and Ron's manacles visibly tightened, making him wince with pain.

Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to protest at the Minister's own law breaking, but Harry managed to catch her eye and shook his head. For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore his warning, but she fortunately thought better of it, her shoulders hunching in defeat as the portcullis started to open. The sound of the metal grating against the stone was like someone scratching their nails down a blackboard, making everyone's teeth hurt.

The other side of the entrance was just as dark as the outside had been and even though the thing which was now leading them deep into the fortress was carrying a torch, the light seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. All Harry could see was a dim flickering flame floating along the corridor at head height; even the guard was little more than a shadow against the darkness.

They had been creeping along for ten minutes (right, left, left again, then another right) when something pulled Harry's foot out from under him, making him stumble.

'Now, now, enough of this nonsense! What game do you think you're playing at?'

Harry tasted blood on his lips from where his face had slammed into the cold stone lining their path. He tried to stand but his foot was caught between metal, something sharp biting into the flesh. Had he stepped into some kind of trap?

Scrimgeour snatched the torch from the guard and magically enhanced its glow so he could clearly discover what the problem was.

Finally able to see, Harry looked back towards his foot, expecting to see a mangled, bloodied mess. Instead, he saw that his foot had been pulled between the bars covering a small access hole near the base of a cell door. A thin hand gripped his ankle, long dirt-encrusted nails digging into his skin, unwilling to loosen their hold. And peering through the bars at him from amidst long unkempt dirty white-blond hair and beard, a pair of steelgrey eyes flashed dangerously.

'Well, well, Potter; what a sight for sore eyes.'

Azkaban hadn't had as great an effect on Lucius Malfoy as it did on his sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange, but the past year had still taken its toll. Once-haughty cheeks had sunk inwards, accentuating the high cheekbones further; his already-pale skin looked quite grey in the dim light and his sneer lacked impact behind a year's growth of beard. Malfoy's eyes weren't as sunken and hollow as Sirius's had been, but they still kept dimming from dangerous to haunted and back again, as if struggling to remember how to look proud.

But if Malfoy had forgotten how to be snobbish, he had certainly not forgotten how to be evil. His nails dug in deeper as the grey eyes swept from Harry's bound hands to Dawlish's wand pointed at Harry's head. Something seemed to pass between the two men as their eyes met, then Lucius Malfoy laughed.

Never before had Harry heard laughter like that, not even from Voldemort. It echoed through Azkaban's hallways, increasing in mania with each wave, sending shivers racing down Harry's spine and making his hair stand on end.

Everything which was terrible about Azkaban seemed to intensify with the sound of that laughter: the cold, the smell, the decay. Harry understood in that moment how a prisoner as handsome as Sirius could fade away to a hollow shell, a mere shadow of his former self. It wasn't the Dementors (though they certainly wouldn't have helped). It was the darkness etched into the very stones which held a man prisoner, making him despair of ever seeing light again. In that moment, Harry truly believed the words marking the entrance and struggled to breathe against the darkness squeezing the light out of his own soul.

'Dawlish, what do you think you're doing? Restrain that prisoner!'

Scrimgeour's voice seemed to come from a long way off, mixing with the echoes of Malfoy's laughter. Harry could feel shadows pressing against him, then something hot flashed around his ankle and the nails released their hold.

Struggling to his feet, Harry tried to suppress the series of shudders wracking his body. He wasn't sure if they were reaction to the shock of Malfoy's attack, or the sudden cold which was drifting along the corridor like an icy mist. There also seemed to be small creatures skittering around just out of the light, making Ron twitch nervously. Hermione was hunched down on the ground, a very panicky note in her voice as she frantically repeated, 'I can't remember, I can't remember,' over and over.

Harry tried to back away from Dawlish as the cold sank deep into his bones but his chained hands pulled him back and he fell forwards again. The air was so cold, it hurt his lungs as he gasped in pain. Even Dawlish seemed to find breathing difficult as his own breath broke in rattling hisses.

As he was jerked forwards deeper into the cold darkness, Harry knew the end of all hope. He knew he would never see light again; he would never feel warm again. In that moment, he knew the true meaning of despair.

The air rattled again.

'You can take them from here.' Even the Minister sounded slightly frightened, but then, who wouldn't be terrified of a Dementor.

That thought slowly penetrated through the spine-chilling numbness. That wasn't right. There weren't any Dementors here; they'd all joined Voldemort. Hadn't they?

Harry struggled to concentrate and Dawlish jerked again. No, not Dawlish. He was in front of Harry and the jerk had come from behind.

A large, calloused hand clamped over Harry's mouth and nose, making his panic increase further, his heart thumping loudly in his ears as he struggled to breathe. He tried to fight off whoever had grabbed him but they were both bigger and stronger than him, and all Harry managed to do was make his captor squeeze tighter.

'Where's Potter?' Scrimgeour's gruff voice echoed along the corridor; he seemed to have finally noticed that something was amiss. Bright light flooded every crevice, as though Scrimgeour thought Harry might have crawled into one of the cracks in the dark walls. Harry caught a very brief glimpse of Scrimgeour's angry face as he spotted Harry being dragged away from him, then both Harry and his abductor were slammed hard against the stone wall at the far end of the corridor.

Stars twinkled in and out of Harry's vision and something warm and wet trickled down the back of his neck as he tried to wriggle out of the stranger's slackened grip. Light bobbed towards him, accompanied by thundering footsteps. A moment later, Dawlish, Ron and Hermione came into view.

'Are you OK, Harry?' Hermione was dancing from one foot to the other, frustration colouring her voice as she tried to wrench her hands from Dawlish's control so she could help Harry.

Harry blinked dazedly from Hermione to Ron, then to Scrimgeour and Percy who had finally trundled up. At a nod from Scrimgeour, Dawlish jerked his wand, pulling Harry to his feet, enabling him to look down upon his attacker.

A Death Eater lay slumped against the wall, blood pouring down his front from beneath the slit hood and mask. Harry realised that the sticky liquid drying on the back of his neck wasn't his own blood but the Death Eater's; Harry had broken his nose when he slammed into him.

Percy removed the mask and hood, gave a startled blink and shot a quick glance at his employer. Harry felt there was something familiar about the blond hair and general mass of the man, even with the mess of mashed nose and blood in the centre of his face, and wondered if he had been one of the Death Eaters in Little Hangleton's graveyard two years before. It was only when Ron gasped in recognition that Harry remembered this man had been the large Death Eater who had caused most of the damage at Hogwarts the night Dumbledore died; he was also the one whom Snape had stopped from torturing Harry in the grounds afterwards.

Scrimgeour glanced from the unconscious Death Eater to Ron. 'Friend of yours?'

'He was at Hogwarts three weeks ago,' Harry answered him.

'What's he doing here? Now?' Scrimgeour frowned down at the blond head.

'Kidnapping me!' Harry couldn't believe the Minister hadn't worked that one out.

'Kidnapping you?' Scrimgeour's brow rose. 'Are you certain he wasn't _rescuing_ you?'

'Why on earth would a Death Eater want to rescue Harry from you lot?' Ron gaped at Scrimgeour.

'Of course Harry was being kidnapped!' snapped Hermione. 'Voldemort –' (Scrimgeour and Percy both jumped) '– wants to kill Harry personally, but he can only do that if he's _got_ Harry. The question you should be asking is how did that Death Eater know Harry was going to be here, in Azkaban?'

'How should I know how he knew?' Scrimgeour snapped back. 'Who do you think I am? His mother?'

'Why don't you ask him?'

'What, if I'm his mother?' said Scrimgeour incredulously.

'No. How he knew Harry was here,' said Hermione.

Scrimgeour stared from Hermione to Ron then to Harry, his face colouring rapidly. 'I will not be dictated to by law-breaking adolescents!'

'I'm not ordering you about,' said Hermione. 'I'm merely suggesting the easiest way to find out what's going on it to ask. It's a simple enough charm. Or don't you know how to do it?'

'Of course I know how to interrogate a prisoner –'

'Prove it!' Ron earned a glare from Percy.

'Or would you prefer people to know that you're afraid of what a Death Eater has to say about Harry,' added Hermione.

'Who knows,' Harry pointed out. 'He might be able to provide you with evidence which helps convict me.'

Scrimgeour hesitated a moment longer, then tossed his mane of hair back from his scarred face as he crouched down in front of the Death Eater and pointed his wand at the man's chest, saying _'Enervate!'_ He didn't get any further, however, because his attention was drawn by a noise in the corridor leading back to the entrance. Half a second later, Percy cast a curse along the corridor. Harry saw two dark shapes dive to the ground, then the curse came rebounding back towards them, knocking Percy back into Harry and Ron as bright green light flashed around them.

'Hold you wands! Hold you wands!' a familiar voice cried desperately.

'Dad?' Ron exchanged a glance with his brother who tensed, his expression wooden.

Two pinpricks of light danced towards them until a dishevelled Mr Weasley came into view, as well as –

'Are you all right, Harry?'

Harry felt a huge wave of relief course through him as Remus Lupin helped him to his feet. If members of the Order of the Phoenix were here, then everything was going to be OK.

'What are you doing here, Weasley?' Scrimgeour sounded livid. 'And what do you mean by trying to murder me?'

Mr Weasley blinked. 'Murder you? What are you talking about?'

'That was the Killing Curse you just threw at me.'

'I didn't cast a spell at anyone.'

'That was me,' Lupin's quiet voice stated. 'And I only repelled Percy's spell. So if it was indeed the Killing Curse, then Percy should now be dead, which he is not!'

Scrimgeour continued to glare at Mr Weasley.

'Test our wands if you like,' offered Lupin.

'First a bunch of kids, now a werewolf and a Death Eater. This is why Cornelius failed at his job; he allowed unworthy people to order him about. But, fortunately, I am made of sterner stuff.'

'What Death Eater?' Mr Weasley sounded really confused.

'You!' Scrimgeour brought his wand up to point at Arthur. 'This one –' (he jerked his head at the man lying at his feet) '– isn't here by himself. Who ever heard of a Death Eater working alone?'

'Dad's not a Death Eater!' Ron took an indignant step forwards but was pulled back by Dawlish.

Mr Weasley stared at the man lying behind the Minister and gasped. 'Yaxley?'

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged uncertain glances.

'Do you know him, Mr Weasley?' asked Harry.

'We've met.' Mr Weasley's tone was very curt. He looked back up at Scrimgeour. 'Who killed him?'

'Nobody killed him! I was just about to question –' Scrimgeour broke off suddenly as he glanced down at Yaxley, his face going as pale as a ghost.

Harry gazed down at the shocked, terror-filled eyes staring above the bloodied, broken nose. Yaxley, whoever he was, would never answer a question ever again.

Scrimgeour's head shot up. 'You did this!' His wand was in Mr Weasley's face again.

'Of course I didn't kill him.' said Mr Weasley defensively. 'One of you lot did that.'

'Why on earth would we want him dead yet? He still hadn't been interrogated. _You_ killed him to stop him naming you as a fellow Death Eater. What are you doing?' As soon as Scrimgeour had said Yaxley hadn't been questioned, both Lupin and Mr Weasley had started to move into defensive positions, guarding Harry, Ron and Hermione.

'Like you said, Minister, Death Eaters don't tend to act alone. So if you didn't kill Yaxley, and we certainly didn't, then there is obviously a third party lurking around somewhere.' said Lupin quietly.

'Yes, you two!'

'You lot never get it right, do you?' Hermione's bravado seemed to be returning. 'First, you charge Harry with a crime he didn't commit, then you drag us here without a trial. Now you honestly believe Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin are Death Eaters? If it wasn't so scary, it would be laughable.'

'If the Minister says they're Death Eaters, then they're Death Eaters,' said Percy, reaching forward to grab Mr Weasley's left arm and push the sleeve up. (Harry blinked. It was the first time he had heard Percy acknowledge his father's existence since his estrangement two years ago.) 'See!'

Percy's exclamation of triumph was half-choked by a gasp of stunned disbelief as bare skin was revealed. He looked up at his father. 'You did something. What did you do? You concealed it somehow.' His voice was full of accusation.

Mr Weasley barely noticed; his attention was focused upon their surroundings, watching for threats from Voldemort's forces.

'Will you drop all this nonsense about Arthur and I being Death Eaters and let us get you all away from here safely?' Lupin tried to herd Dawlish, Ron and Hermione forwards so the others would have to move as well. 'Now come on. We can discuss all of this over a cup of Molly's tea.'

'What about Mrs Figg?' Harry's loud exclamation echoed around the stone walls.

'Where is she?' asked Lupin.

'Down there.' Ron jerked his head towards the end of the corridor.

Lupin looked straight at Scrimgeour. 'Any surprises I should know about?'

Harry thought something like triumph flickered very briefly in the Minister's eyes, but a moment later it was gone.

'No,' said Scrimgeour mildly, shaking his head. 'Not if you're not really a Death Eater.'

Lupin tensed slightly and glanced at Harry and Ron. 'Is that true?'

'No.' Ron was visibly shaking. 'There are hundreds of spiders.'

'And I'm sure I heard a Dementor,' Harry added.

Lupin checked. 'A Dementor?' He looked across at Scrimgeour. 'And spiders?'

Ron's panicked squeaking punctuated his nods, but Lupin's eyes didn't leave Scrimgeour.

'You didn't.' To Harry's surprise, Lupin started chuckling. 'No wonder you're all so scared. That's clever, Minister; that's very clever. Stupid, but clever.' And without any further explanation, he turned and headed deeper into the bowels of Azkaban.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked at the Minister.

'What did he mean by that?' Hermione asked.

Scrimgeour ignored her. 'Dawlish,' he said grimly. 'Place Arthur Weasley under arrest and destroy his wand.'

Mr Weasley tightened his grip on his wand.

'Don't be foolish, Dawlish.' Lupin came back into view, Mrs Figg bobbing along in front of him, unconscious. 'If the Minister wishes to see us convicted of Yaxley's murder, then it wouldn't be very wise to destroy the only pieces of evidence which would definitely be able to prove our guilt. Destroying our wands would mean the Wizengamot would only be able to take your word for it that we're guilty, but being able to present the wand used …'

Lupin left the statement hanging, but Harry could tell his words had had some effect. Even thought Dawlish looked like he still wanted to follow through with the original order, Scrimgeour's expression was calculating. As Minister, his word was law, automatically accepted by the Wizengamot; but also providing the guilty wand would be the final nail in Professor Lupin and Mr Weasley's coffins. No one would be able to argue their innocence against such damning proof.

'Stand down, Dawlish.' Scrimgeour's eyes flashed darkly. 'If these law breakers wish their wands to seal their cell doors, then who am I to stand in the way of justice? Very well. Weasley, Dawlish. You are to guard these prisoners at the Ministry tonight, ready for their trials first thing tomorrow morning. It will be a long shift, but not a thankless one as you will be enabling justice to be served.' He flicked his wand and both Arthur and Lupin's wands flew to his hand. Removing Harry, Ron and Hermione's wands from his robes, he handed all five wands to Percy. 'I'm trusting you, Weasley, to ensure that this incriminating evidence is safely presented at the trials.' Percy stood a little straighter. Dawlish scowled. Harry imagined he thought that, as an Auror, he held seniority and so should have been assigned the task of safeguarding their wands.

Scrimgeour flicked his wand again and manacles appeared on both Mr Weasley and Remus Lupin's wrists. He glanced at Mrs Figg still hanging in midair. 'What happened to her?' he asked Lupin.

'Your _guards_ proved too much for her and she was in such a state that I had to subdue her. She should be all right by morning, though it would be prudent to send her to St Mungo's for observation.'

Scrimgeour stiffened. 'Are you trying to tell me how to do my job again?'

'No,' Lupin shook his head. 'Merely pointing out that Mrs Figg has yet to be tried and convicted and that, until such time, the law presumes her to be innocent. I was merely thinking of what would happen to the Ministry's standing in the public's eye if you were seen to be insensitive towards the needs of said innocent woman.'

That one hurt, thought Harry. The Minister's popularity had suffered a severe blow a couple of weeks earlier when he had ordered the arrest of Madam Rosmerta for aiding Draco Malfoy in his attempts to murder Dumbledore. There had been a huge outcry from the general wizarding community against the Ministry taking such action. Both Madam Rosmerta's popularity as landlady of the Three Broomsticks and the fact that she had been under the Imperius Curse meant that most people considered her to be very much a victim. As much as nobody wanted to see the Ministry doing nothing, they believed it was important that the people being sent to Azkaban really _were_ Voldemort's supporters. Madam Rosmerta's arrest (and prompt release after the backlash) had people looking more closely at others who had been imprisoned since Voldemort's return. Not that it had done much good. Mundungus Fletcher and Stan Shunpike were both still in here … somewhere.

Scrimgeour eyed Mrs Figg thoughtfully, no doubt picturing the reaction if word got out that the Ministry had again kicked an innocent woman when she was down. Pouting, he conceded the point.

'Weasley.' (Percy stepped forwards.) 'I want you to accompany this woman to St Mungo's. Make certain that they understand that she is a Squib and is therefore _not _to have her memory altered. We shall need it to be intact for her trial tomorrow. You are then to stand guard outside her room and safely conduct her to the Ministry at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Dawlish, you shall need to guard these other prisoners alone. I trust you are up to the task?'

Dawlish gave a curt nod, his eyes sweeping coldly over the group before resting on Mr Weasley. Harry felt there was something very sinister about the way he gazed at Ron's dad.

'Very well.' Scrimgeour thrust his wand towards the corridor where Mr Malfoy's cell was located. A moment later, their guide reappeared. Drawing it aside, the Minister spoke quietly to it for several moments. Harry saw it glance disinterestedly towards Yaxley, give what he presumed was its breed's equivalent of a shrug and then it lumbered over to Yaxley and tossed him uncaringly over its shoulder.

'What's it going to do?' Hermione's wide eyes were just visible in the dimming light.

'He was proved to be one of He Who Must Not Be Named's followers, so he shall be buried alongside others who have expired within these walls.' Scrimgeour didn't sound at all pleased that his actions were being questioned. 'Now, if there are no more questions?'

'No.' Lupin answered quickly as Hermione opened her mouth.

'Then, I suggest we get going. Weasley. Dawlish.' Scrimgeour waited for his men to gather their charges, then held his torch higher as he led them back towards the entrance.

One wild Portkey-ride later, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves being squashed into the old, red telephone box which was the visitors' entrance to the Ministry.

'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.' The annoyingly cool female voice filled what little space was left in the telephone box. Even though the space had enlarged magically (there was no other explanation for how four grown men and three teenagers could all fit inside and manage to close the door), it was still very cramped as Scrimgeour barked out everyone's names.

'Thank you, Minister. Prisoners of the Ministry,' (Harry had never heard a voice become so icy so quickly), 'you will submit to a search and surrender your wands to the security desk which is located at the far end of the Atrium.'

With his face squashed between Dawlish's elbow and the one remaining pane of glass, Harry found it very difficult, as the ground rose beside his nose, to fight against the feeling that he was being buried alive. It was a great relief to finally spill out onto the Atrium floor ('Have a nice evening'), even if Dawlish did promptly jerk them to their feet, hurting their wrists again.

Harry tried to look around but, unlike the last time he had been here, the atrium was pitch dark, making it difficult to see. Edging a foot forwards and feeling around like a blind man, Harry's body suddenly jerked stiffly straight and he rose several inches off the floor. He tried to cry out, gasp, anything … but found his brain had been trapped inside a statue. He couldn't even move his eyes from side to side. Feeling as helpless as he had when Dumbledore died, Harry had no choice but to allow himself to be floated along, a faint light at the end of Scrimgeour's wand guiding the way.

They had passed what Harry assumed had been the Fountain of Magical Brethren (though it had sounded more like a stream) – as well as what felt like a ballroom full of dancers – and just reached the gateway leading to the lifts (Harry bumped against the metal scrollwork) when he heard the heavy rattling sound of one of the lifts arriving at the Atrium level.

' … and so we can have lunch at that new café across from Hyde – Who turned the lights off? Oh –' A young woman swore as what sounded like a large collection of books and papers fell to the floor. Harry tried to gasp, but couldn't. _Tonks_?

'Allow me. _Lumos!_' said a slightly lisping voice. A moment later, Harry got _really_ fed up with the Body-Bind Curse because he couldn't even blink his eyes against the bright light bursting from the voice's wand.

'Remus?' A young witch with bright pink hair had been in the middle of waving her own wand at the mess of files at her feet when she stopped, stunned; the files crashed to the floor again as she stared at the party who had suddenly appeared before her.

The wizard behind her was also staring at them, but his expression was one of triumphant satisfaction … almost as if a long-held belief had just been proved beyond all doubt. His bulging eyes roved over them, and Harry was reminded of Luna Lovegood, a fellow Hogwarts student.

'Why are you still here, Tonks?' Scrimgeour sounded less that happy that he hadn't been able to sneak them in unnoticed.

'What?' Tonks was still staring at Lupin.

'She's been allowing me to interview her.' The mysterious wizard stuck his hand out. Scrimgeour just glared at him, but the man grabbed the Minister's hand anyway and shook it vigorously. 'Quentin Lovegood, _The Quibbler_. We swapped owls last week. Your Chief Auror granted my magazine permission to run a series on his team as a recruiting drive, remember?' Luna's father's eyes continued to rove over the group, taking in the manacles as well as the fact that most of them were languishing under the Body-Bind Curse. His eyes widened further as they fell upon Harry. Scrimgeour flushed.

'Yes, well I'm certain we'll be swamped with applicants the instant you go to press,' His tone suggested Azkaban would crumble before he accepted any of them. 'Now, if you two will excuse us,' he said dismissively, restoring Tonks's papers to her arms and stepping between her and Remus, 'we have important matters to attend to.'

'Come on, Tonks,' Mr Lovegood grasped her shoulders and began to steer her away from the lifts. 'We don't want to stop the Minister doing important work. If it wasn't for the Minister's important work, you'd be out of a job and I wouldn't have anything to write about.'

Scrimgeour tensed. For a second, Harry thought he was going to demand Mr Lovegood explain himself (Lovegood looked like he would welcome such a challenge), then the moment passed and Dawlish was forcing them into the lift. Harry tried to put a pleading expression on his face, but he wasn't certain if it worked. The last thing he saw as the golden grilles closed was Mr Lovegood slowly leading Tonks towards a group of dancing shadows, the whole while staring at the top of the lift door.

'Department of Mysteries.'

Still floating along in the dark, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin were escorted along the corridor towards the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, down the steps to Level Ten and into Courtroom Ten. Harry's heart pounded faster as panic coursed through him. Scrimgeour had said their hearing wouldn't be until morning. It wasn't even tomorrow yet, let alone eight o'clock. Had he been taking lessons from Fudge?

But Scrimgeour didn't stop in the courtroom. Leading them across to the far corner, he held a door open for Dawlish and they were dragged into a small, cold room. Harry knew, from its position, that it was the ante-chamber where Dementors had guarded Bellatrix Lestrange and her co-offenders before the trial which sentenced them to life imprisonment in Azkaban. Judging by the stink of decay, their existence wouldn't be forgotten any time soon.

Light suddenly filled the small space, blazing from the very walls themselves. At a nod from Scrimgeour, Dawlish flicked his wand again and the five of them rotated into horizontal positions before dropping to the floor. Harry's back felt like every vertebra had cracked; he would certainly be sporting some decent bruises come daybreak.

'I'll see you in the morning, Dawlish. You shouldn't have any problems with this lot, but if you do … well, I'll trust any judgement which you make.' Scrimgeour smiled grimly as he cast an eye over his prisoners.

Harry tried to discover if the others were all right but, frozen as he was, all he could see was the low ceiling and the constant, unflinching light. Resigning himself to the fact that he was going to be staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep, he tried to slow his breathing.

Ten hours of not being able to sleep or blink against the intense, bright light and Harry's nerves were so raw, he felt like he would explode. Tears streamed uncontrolled to his ears, making them itch, muscles desperately craved to move, his feet had gone numb and his bladder was threatening to burst. Dawlish had spent most of the night passing snide remarks about how they were only getting what they deserved, his bitterness over Dumbledore's jinxes and the fiasco with Madam Rosmerta manifesting itself in his confidence that they would all finally be brought to heel.

Harry estimated that their stomachs had been rumbling for a couple of hours (Ron's seemed to be loudest) when he heard the door leading to the courtroom open and Percy's supercilious voice told Dawlish to bring the first two. Both Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin drifted briefly into view as they were drawn upright and then they floated out of sight. Harry's ears strained to hear what was going on in the next room but there was only oppressive silence as minutes passed with excruciating slowness.

Harry's dislike of the Ministry was certainly not being diminished as a result of their treatment. He decided that he didn't want to be an Auror anymore. If he managed to get through all of this – both this trial and destroying Voldemort – he was going to be _Minister_ and make some changes. Lots of changes. Starting with getting rid of dangerous, power-hungry morons like Scrimgeour, Dawlish and Percy. _If _he managed to get through this.

Unwilling to break down and let Scrimgeour think he had somehow won, Harry concentrated on his anger, building it up to keep his other emotions at bay. But it wasn't really working. An image of Mr Malfoy's arm reaching out from his cell kept popping up in front of his sore, tired eyes. Maybe Azkaban wouldn't be such a bad idea. At least he'd be able to get some proper sleep.

Harry knew he was really reaching the end of his strength if he was thinking things like that. Though it did have some merit …

_Stop it!_ he silently screamed at himself. _Stop it, stop it, stop –_

The door flew open with a bang, making Harry's stretched nerves snap. Without warning, he was jerked into a vertical position. Dawlish stomped angrily into the room, Lupin and Ron's dad bobbing along in front of him, Percy marching importantly behind. Through the open doorway, Harry could see numerous plum-robed backs disappearing out into the corridor.

'We're leaving!' announced Percy, producing a chipped teacup.

_What about our trial?_ Harry protested silently as Dawlish gathered the five prisoners together with a pull of his wand. Reaching for the cup, the ante-room disappeared as a multitude of colours assaulted their fragile senses.

Hitting the dirt face-first, Harry flinched as, with a loud _crack_, Dawlish Disapparated the instant they landed.

'Come on!' said Percy tersely, setting off along a dirt track at a brisk trot.

Finally able to move, Harry began to mop his face and eyes with his sleeve, but even this simple task sent pain signals shooting to his brain as his stiff muscles made themselves felt. Ron lay a few feet away, vigorously scratching every part of his body he could reach (Harry's own itches intensified). Hermione tried to stand but collapsed again with a cry. Lupin slowly raised his head.

'Ignore his order, Hermione,' he croaked. 'Just work on getting your muscles working properly first. Start by wiggling your fingers and toes and then work up from there, but only after the … _previous … parts ..._' Lupin gritted his teeth in pain '… _have stopped … tingling!_'

Following Lupin's advice, Harry tried to wiggle his toes but couldn't immediately tell if it was working since his feet were numb. It took several minutes for painful sensation to spread along his limbs, by which time Percy had returned and was standing over them, tapping an impatient highly-polished shoe. Wincing up at him, Harry tried to sit up, only to flop straight back down. On the third try, he succeeded.

Hermione was kneeling, rocking back and forth and rubbing her thighs. Lupin slowly stood and helped Mr Weasley to his feet. Ron was still rolling around on the ground, scratching himself all over.

Gazing along the country lane they had Ported to, Harry saw a sight which both confused him and filled him with hope: The Burrow, residence of the Weasley family.

'Why are we here?' Hermione's throat sounded as dry as Harry's felt.

'We've been released.' Mr Weasley reached down to help her stand.

'With conditions,' added Lupin as Harry, Ron and Hermione all froze, clouds of dust being stirred up as their jaws hit the dirt. 'But we can go into the details later. Right now, we need to get inside, have something to eat and then get some sleep. You too, Percy. You've been up all night watching over Mrs Figg, so you need to crash as well. If Scrimgeour wants you to do otherwise, then he's not doing a very good job caring for the needs of his staff.

Percy's ears turned as red as his hair and he glared at Lupin through his horn-rimmed glasses, his bloodshot eyes telling evidence that, as much as he might not like it, what Lupin had just said was true.

Mr Weasley finished helping Ron get up and then cast an eye over all of them. 'Everybody right, now?

'Bags I first in the loo,' croaked Ron as he started to head towards his home.

'No!' Mr Weasley's refusal made Ron spin around in anger. 'We'll do this properly. Ladies first, then youngest to eldest.'

'Mr Weasley,' Hermione's voice was still rough. 'It's OK –'

'No, Hermione,' Mr Weasley forestalled Ron pouncing on the offer. 'I raised my sons properly and they're going to demonstrate that.' Harry noticed that he avoided looking at Percy. 'Now, come on. Molly will be waiting.' And he led them down the lane. Ron brought up the rear, muttering angrily under his breath and casting covetous glances at the trees lining the road.

They were halfway across the yard when a plump woman came haring towards them, screaming like a banshee.

'_Arthur! Oh, Arthur!'_ Mrs Weasley threw herself into her husband's arms and began sobbing noisily on his shoulder.

Mr Weasley lowered his head and held her close, embracing his wife like a relieved husband, but Harry saw him mutter something quietly in her ear. Mrs Weasley tensed briefly and then resumed blubbering all over Mr Weasley's robes, but now it seemed slightly overdone.

'Let me guess,' Mr Weasley patted his wife's back. 'The clock said Ron and I had been arrested? I sometimes think that clock causes more trouble than it's worth. There, there.' He continued to murmur soothingly.

After a minute of embarrassing affection, Mrs Weasley finally stepped back and noticed Percy.

'_Good heavens, what are you doing here?'_ She grabbed Percy in a bone-crushing hug and planted a very wet kiss on his cheek.

'_Mum,' _Ron was hopping from one foot to the other in the background. _'Can we get inside? Please?'_

This distracted Mrs Weasley enough for Percy to pull free.

'We really should retreat indoors.' Percy still refused to look at his mother.

'Why?' Mrs Weasley's voice rose in pitch as she glanced around the yard, eyes wide with panic. 'There aren't any of You-Know-Who's followers around, are there?'

'Let's just get indoors.'

Harry's opinion of Percy went down a notch further as Mrs Weasley led them towards the house. He was certain it was no accident that Percy had not alleviated his mother's fears by informing her that there weren't any Death Eaters nearby since, as far as he was concerned, there was at least one in the midst of their party.

As soon as he had stepped inside, Ron raced across the kitchen and disappeared through a door on the far side.

'_Ron!'_ called Mr Weasley but it didn't bring him back.

'What's wrong with him?' Ginny looked up from the table.

'I told him "Ladies first!"' growled Mr Weasley. Mrs Weasley glanced around at Hermione.

'It's OK, Mr Weasley.' Hermione sat down at the kitchen table and crossed her legs. 'I don't mind waiting.'

'Waiting for what?' asked Mrs Weasley but nobody answered her. She gazed hopefully at Lupin, but didn't even get any enlightenment there. The silence stretched.

'Fine.' Mrs Weasley threw her hands up in resignation. 'Don't tell me what's going on. But while you're all waiting for whatever it is you're waiting for, how about a cup of tea?' The kettle flew over to the sink to fill itself.

'NO!' they all cried desperately.

Half an hour later, Harry was a long way to feeling better. His bladder was empty, his stomach was full and all he needed to do now was get some sleep. Ron's bedroom beckoned.

'Not yet, Harry.' Lupin stopped him as he pushed his chair back from the table. 'We need to get the rules straight.'

Ron stared at him blearily. 'What rules? You said we've been released.'

'I also said "with conditions",' replied Lupin.

'Why-y?' yawned Hermione. 'What happened at your trial?'

'It wasn't a trial,' snapped Percy irritably. 'It was a whitewash. I've never known so many members of the Wizengamot to be so disloyal to the Minister.'

'The Wizengamot's job is to be loyal to _justice_, not Scrimgeour,' said Lupin. Percy scowled at him.

'So how was it a whitewash?' Harry forced his eyes to stay open.

'The entire Wizengamot sat in judgement, not just Scrimgeour's mates,' Lupin explained. 'And once the evidence which Percy had guarded so faithfully had been examined, they had no choice but to find Arthur and I not guilty of Blackthorn's murder.'

'So you were both acquitted?' asked Hermione. Lupin nodded. 'And what about us?'

'You're still under arrest.' Percy seemed determined to take charge again.

'Shut up, Percy!' snapped Mr Weasley.

'_Arthur?'_

'No, Molly.' Mr Weasley held up a hand to stop his wife. 'I've had enough of it. Scrimgeour has been trying to make Harry endorse what the Ministry is doing, thinking it will somehow make all the stuff-ups legitimate. This is just his latest attempt, threatening Harry with imprisonment and watching his every move. And Percy is helping him to the hilt!'

'It's all right, Molly.' Lupin jumped in to stop a free-for-all. 'He's just tired. We all are. So let's say what needs to be said and finally get some sleep.'

'Why didn't you get any sleep last night? Ton–' Mrs Weasley gulped as she shot Percy a nervous glance. '– geons have floors, you know? You could have slept on that.'

'What's a tongeon?' Percy wanted to know.

'What?' Mrs Weasley gazed distractedly at her third son.

'You said "tongeon".'

'She said _dungeon_, Percy. I think, perhaps, you're more tired than you think. Why don't you go on up. After all, there isn't really any need for you to stay; you already know the rules.' Lupin held out a hand. 'However, I'll have our wands before you go.'

Percy glared at Lupin, his ears reddening rapidly. Then, with a scowl, he reached into his robes and pulled out several lengths of timber, slamming them down on the table like a bundle of sticks. But he refused to take a step towards the door.

'Come on, Percy.' Mrs Weasley wrapped a tight arm around him. 'Your old room is all ready for you. You too, Ginny; you can help me make up Harry's bed.'

'But Mum –'

'Now!' Mrs Weasley had steered Percy to the door.

'Go on, Ginny.'

Ginny glared at her father, then stood so quickly, she knocked her chair over. Lupin righted it as she stormed after her mother, slamming the door behind her.

Hermione sorted through the pile until she found her wand and pointed it at the door. '_Muffliato!'_ she whispered.

'What was that?' Mr Weasley frowned at her.

'Oh, just something we learnt last year. Stops eavesdroppers.' She examined her wand closely, looking for signs of damage.

'He forgot mine.' Harry went to follow Percy.

Mr Weasley cleared his throat nervously. 'You don't get yours yet, Harry.'

'What?' Why not?' cried Ron.

'Because, as Percy said, Harry's still under arrest. You all are.' Mr Weasley refused to meet anybody' eyes.

'So how come we're here?' Harry gazed from Ron's father to Lupin.

'You've been released into Arthur and Molly's custody to await trial.'

'Like being released on bail?' asked Hermione. Lupin nodded.

'What's bail?' Ron wanted to know.

'If we're on bail as well, how come Ron and I have got our wands back?'

'Because you're only being charged as accomplices,' Lupin replied. 'Harry's charge is far more serious.'

'Scrimgeour's got my wand?' Harry could feel the blood draining from his face. 'He'll break it first chance he gets.

'No, Percy has got it.'

'Same diff,' grunted Ron.

'No, it isn't,' Lupin told them. 'Whatever else Percy may be, he's a stickler for the rules, and the rules say the Ministry can't destroy a wizard's wand until _after_ he has been found guilty, despite what the Minister may want to the contrary. So rest assured, Percy will keep your wand safe until your trial. Especially since he thinks it will convict you.' Lupin smiled secretly, as if at a private joke.

'Speaking of which,' asked Harry, 'when is our trial?'

Lupin reached into his robes and removed three folded pieces of parchment. 'Your birthday.'

Harry faltered in the middle of breaking the seal. 'My –?'

'Yes,' said Lupin grimly. 'So they may try to try you as an adult. We'll just have to wait and see. Also,' he glanced around at all three of them, as if to stress a point. 'Security is being bumped up significantly because Harry is here, so no wandering outside the property boundaries. The Ministry claims it's for Harry's protection, not enforcing any sort of imprisonment, but as it also applies to you two,' he nodded at Ron and Hermione, 'you're welcome to put your own interpretation on it. Now, before Ron starts snoring –,' ('I wasn't snoring.' Ron lifted his head off the table, eyes closed the whole time) '– I suggest we finally try to sleep off some of our aches and pains.'

Mrs Weasley met them halfway up the stairs and fussed over Harry and Hermione the rest of the way up to Ron's room, telling Ron to stop acting like a baby when he complained about being ignored. The last thing Harry remembered as he collapsed onto his bed, fully dressed, was Ron asking, 'Why have we been released on a bale of hay?'


	3. Chapter 3: Discontentment, Desperation

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER THREE –**

**Discontentment, Desperation, Disintegration**

Boy, I must have been tired, thought Harry when he finally woke up. A glance at his watch told him it was eight o'clock – in the morning, judging by the direction of the sun – so he had slept for almost a full day. No wonder he felt so hungry. Ron's bed was empty so, after Harry changed into fresh clothes (his trunk was standing at the foot of his bed), he headed down to breakfast, too.

He was halfway down when he saw Lupin coming out of the bathroom. Harry doubled back.

'Er … Professor … I was wondering if I could have a word. Please?'

Lupin responded by holding the door to his room open and waving Harry in with a toothbrush, comb and razor.

'What did you want to talk about?' Lupin asked as he packed his toiletries away.

'How does the Fidelius Charm work?'

Lupin clearly didn't expect Harry to ask that. 'That's not really my area of expertise.'

'Yeah, I know, but Flitwick isn't here. So …'

Lupin leant against the windowsill. 'Why do you want to know?'

'I need to go to Godric's Hollow.'

'Need?'

'OK, want But I don't know where it is. I know that, unless the Secret Keeper tells you, you can't find the secret thing, but what if the people being protected by the secret are dead? And what happens if the Secret Keeper dies?'

Lupin raised a hand to stem the flow of questions. 'Firstly, Peter isn't dead but, to answer your question, when a Secret Keeper dies, the secret dies with them. Those people whom they had already shared the secret with will still remember it themselves but they can't share it with anybody else.'

'And what if the Secret Keeper is still alive but the people in the secret are dead? Can the other people who were told tell anybody else?'

'In other words, can I tell you how to find Godric's Hollow?' Lupin guessed.

'You know where my mum and dad's place is?' asked Harry, surprised.

'Who else did you have in mind?'

'Hagrid,' replied Harry. 'I know he knows where it is because he was the one who got me out of there after …'

Lupin watched Harry closely. He looked like he was going to insist Harry tell him why he wanted to go to his parents' place. Harry's chest tightened with dread but Lupin merely sighed and said, 'Yes, Hagrid knows the location, as did Sirius. And yes, so do I.'

'And can you tell me or are you still bound by the Fidelius?' Harry held his breath.

'I can tell you. The secret wasn't "where James and Lily's house is" but "where they were hiding at the time". Since they're no longer hiding there, it's no longer a secret. And yes, I can take you there, but it will have to wait.' He gazed out the window. 'The full moon is next week, then it's your birthday and Bills' wedding. I should be right to take you after that. '

Harry's stomach dropped at mention of his birthday. 'That's if I'm not in Azkaban.'

'Don't worry,' Lupin smiled encouragingly. 'They don't have a case against you; your wand will prove that. Then there's the little matter of their own law-breaking.' (Harry frowned.) 'Unless I'm mistaken, that thing which took Yaxley's body away was a cross between a troll and a lethifold.'

'A Lethifold?' Harry remembered briefly coming across the murderous, shadow creatures in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ 'How …?'

'That's the question, isn't it? Very serious breach of Interspecies Cross-breeding laws. Who'd have thought Scrimgeour capable of it?' Lupin winked at Harry.

'And that's what attacked Mrs Figg?'

'Oh, no. No, that was a Boggart.'

Harry's jaw dropped. No wonder he had heard a Dementor and Ron, spiders. And Hermione's greatest fear would be forgetting everything she'd learned. Harry gave a nervous chuckle of relief.

'Now, if I were you,' continued Lupin as Harry's stomach rumbled loudly, 'I'd go get something to eat before breakfast gets cold.'

When Harry entered the kitchen, he walked into a war zone. Percy was leaning against the dresser with a smug, self-important look on his face. Mrs Weasley stood in front of him, like she was trying to protect him. On the other side of the table, Ron, Ginny and Mr Weasley were poised, tense as springs. Nobody seemed to notice Harry arrive, probably distracted by Fred and George slamming the door behind them as they stormed outside. (_'Shut up, Weatherby!_')

'Er …'

Everybody jumped.

'Harry, dear.' Mrs Weasley hurried over to him, fussing as always. 'Did you sleep all right?'

Harry nodded uncertainly, eyeing the others; the tension was still very thick.

'Come and sit down.' Mrs Weasley steered him over to the table. 'Hungry? Would you like some eggs? And you –' she snapped as Ron went to get up, '– can stay put until you've finished eating all of _your _breakfast. I mean it, Ron. _All _your breakfast or you don't eat for the rest of the day.' She glared at him as he seemed about to defy her, but then sank back onto his chair, muttering angrily under his breath; clearly the thought of no food was too much.

'And keep a civil tongue in your head, young man.' Mrs Weasley waved a spoon menacingly. 'Percy's not to blame for the situation you've found yourself in. You did that all by yourself.'

Ron opened his mouth, but judging by the way he suddenly snapped it shut, Hermione (who was sitting opposite him) kicked him under the table.

Deciding it was probably safer not to ask what had been happening until they were out of Mrs Weasley's hearing, Harry tucked into his eggs. With any luck, it would all blow over soon.

But not soon enough. Ron was still fuming when his mother shooed them outside. The sight of Mrs Weasley fussing over Percy, as well as Percy's reminder that they weren't to wander off, made him flare up again.

Ron slammed the door so hard it made the house shake. Harry thought, not for the first time, that the house might fall down, but Ron seemed not to notice. He just strode angrily through the garden, swearing loudly as he went; Harry had to run to catch up. Even when he did manage to grab his friend's shoulder to stop him, he found himself on the receiving end of a colourful diatribe, through which he caught a distant shout of 'Look out', followed by something whizzing past Ron's nose. With reflexes born from years as a Quidditch Seeker, Harry had the errant object in his hand before Ron had a chance to do more than jump backwards.

Ron turned on the two red streaks bearing down on them at top speed.

'_OY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? TRYING TO KILL US OR SOMETHING? WHY DON'T YOU WATCH WHERE YOU'RE HITTING THOSE THINGS, YOU –?'_

'Now, now, bro', are you sure you want to finish that sentence?' Fred cut in.

'Yeah, we know you were getting in some practice with Harry just now, but –,'

'– You surely love your own brothers more than your mate, so –,'

'– You don't need to continue your practise on us,' finished George.

As usual, Harry felt like he was watching a tennis match.

The mention of brotherly love made Ron flare up even more. _'Love my brother? That's what I was mad about! I wasn't mad at Harry! It was that _–_'_ His shouting suddenly turned to sputtering as an envelope hit him squarely in the face. Looking around, Harry saw a grey owl flying towards him. Holding out his arm, it landed gently and waited patiently for him to remove the envelope tied to its leg; in the background, Ron was shouting at another owl swiftly retreating towards the horizon. Ignoring him, Harry opened his envelope.

'_Ron!'_ he shouted excitedly, making Ron jump. Even Fred and George tore their attention back to Harry. 'It's our Apparition tests!' He waved the letter in Ron's face.

'_What?'_ yelped Ron, snatching the letter from Harry. He scanned the page with an increasingly alarmed look on his face, then ripped open his own letter. 'Oh no!' he groaned, and slumped to the ground.

Harry, Fred and George exchanged puzzled looks. Ron just sat at their feet, rocking back and forth, clutching his head and moaning, 'I'm gonna fail again, I'm gonna fail again.'

Fred and George looked like Christmas had come early. Harry frowned at them disapprovingly.

'You're not going to fail. You've Apparated before. You just have to make sure you don't get nervous, like with Quidditch.'

Ron was still panicking. 'But I haven't been practising!'

'So practise!' said Harry.

Ron looked up, his eyes wide with desperation. 'How?' He waved a hand around. 'With all the security on this place? I'm gonna fail again.' He went back to his rocking.

Fred and George looked at each other for a minute, then nodded. Harry wondered, for the millionth time, if the twins were telepathic.

'OK, little brother; your needs are greater than ours, so we'll help you out,' offered George.

Ron forgot his dilemma long enough to look up, suspicious. 'You'd help me?'

The twins nodded.

'Why?'

Fred and George regarded him with mock-hurt expressions on their faces.

'Always so ready to doubt our good intentions.' Fred shook his head.

George tsked. 'You'd think he'd be more grateful. Though, I suppose we have brought it on ourselves a bit, what with –,'

'– The time we turned his feet to ice so he could go skating in summer –,'

'– Or when we set his underpants on fire –,'

'– While he was still wearing them –,'

'– Because he said the toilet seat was icy cold in winter –,'

'– Or the Boggart we gave him for his sixth birthday, which turned into a giant spider –,'

'– No, hang on; that _was_ a giant spider.'

Ron looked at Harry. 'You see?'

Harry tried to look serious, but it wasn't easy with a wide grin on his face. 'Ron does have a point, you two.'

This sobered the twins up, whose hurt expressions looked a little more genuine when they realised that even Harry didn't trust them.

Glancing around, Fred checked for eavesdroppers. 'OK, if you must know, we're not doing this for your sake, we're doing it for ours.'

'Yeah,' said George. 'It has become pretty obvious to everyone that you intend to traipse around after Harry, trying to defeat You-Know-Who –'

'– So you just might find yourself in a position where you need to Disapparate in a hurry.'

Ron looked confused. 'So how is that helping you?'

'Because,' George explained, 'if you can't Apparate–,'

'– You'll be stuck in a very sticky spot –' (Harry grinned again; he was pretty sure what was coming next.)

'– And,' both brothers spoke together, 'Mum would use every curse she can get her wand around on the two of us.' They looked down at Ron as if nothing else could be plainer.

Ron looked like he was about to blow up again. Harry thought it wise to step in. Addressing the twins, he asked, 'So, exactly what did you have in mind when you said you'd help?'

'Well, Harry,' Fred seemed thankful for the diversion, 'we thought you could practise in the flat over our shop.'

Now Harry was confused. 'How? We're not supposed to leave here.'

'_You're_ not allowed to leave,' George poked a finger in Harry's chest, 'but –'

'– _We can_. So, all we need to do is –,'

'– Swap places –,'

'– As each other –,'

'– And nobody will be any the wiser.'

'You can both practise to your hearts' content –,'

'– And even the Ministry won't notice.'

'They'll just think we're testing something,' completed Fred, as both twins looked expectantly down at their brother.

Ron looked slightly ill. 'You mean, drink Polyjuice Potion?' Harry didn't blame him for his reaction; Polyjuice Potion tasted disgusting.

'Can you think of a better way?' asked George.

Ron didn't look very happy with the way things had developed, but he knew he didn't have much choice. 'OK, fine,' he agreed grudgingly. 'So when do we do this?'

'Would one hour a night do?' asked George.

'_One hour?'_ Ron sounded panicky again.

'Each night for – how many weeks?' Fred looked across at Harry.

'Hang on –,' Harry picked up their letters, 'um, the day before my birthday – that's two weeks.'

'Good!' George clapped his hands together. 'Fourteen hours should be plenty.'

Harry looked at Ron. 'You'll easily master it in that amount of time, won't you?'

Ron thought this over. 'Hmm, probably.' He looked a bit more hopeful. 'Yeah, should do.'

'Right.' Fred conspiratorially waved them closer. 'We shut up shop at five each day, so if we switch then –,'

'– You can practise till six –,'

'– Then get back just in time for –,'

'Supper.' Ron licked his lips. 'But how do we swap?'

'We're getting there,' said George.

'Now, if you two can arrange to be practising Quidditch at the bottom of the garden–,'

'– Nice and low –,'

'– We'll be able to sneak in quickly from the wood.'

'Then we swap –,'

'– You race down to the wood –,'

'– And go to the shop –,'

'– Practise for an hour –,'

'– Then come back to the wood –,'

'– And we swap back.'

'You'll need to run pretty fast to get across the lane without being seen –,'

'– But we've got a Hotfoot Jinx which might help'. George grinned wickedly at them.

Harry grinned back. 'No need,' he said, with a glance at Ron. 'I've got something even better.'

The twins looked intrigued.

'Yeah,' said Ron gloatingly. 'You two haven't got anything like this.'

'What?' The twins' curiosity was getting the better of them.

'An Invisibility Cloak,' Harry replied.

The twins' jaws dropped. 'Where'd you get one of those?'

'Where'd you get a ready supply of Polyjuice?' countered Harry.

'We made it ourselves,' Fred explained.

'We thought we'd brew it and try it.'

'Yeah, thought it might be handy to sell it to the Order –,'

'– Especially since they don't have Snape around to mix it for them any more.'

'Who'd you change into?' Ron was curious.

'Each other,' replied the twins. Ron looked more confused than ever.

'Anyhow, Harry,' said George, 'you were going to tell us where you got your Invisibility Cloak.'

'My dad. He gave it to Dumbledore before he died, then Dumbledore passed it on to me my first Christmas at Hogwarts.'

Both Fred and George looked heartbroken.

'Just think of all the fun we could have had,' said Fred.

'Yeah,' moaned George. 'After all, we shared the Marauders' Map with you.'

'Mind you, it does explain a lot –,'

'– Like how you were able to get around so much without Umbridge seeing you.'

'The Marauders' Map was Harry's anyway – _OW!_' Ron rubbed his ankle where Harry had kicked him.

The twins frowned. 'We would have thought it would be Lupin's or Sirius's,' said George.

'How do you figure that it was Harry's?' asked Fred.

'How did you know about Sirius and Lupin?' Harry threw back.

'They kept calling each other Moony and Padfoot when we were at Headquarters,' said Fred.

'Now, how do _you_ fit into the scheme of things?' The twins gazed at Harry, who debated whether or not to explain. _Oh, why not!_

'Prongs was my dad.' (The twins were predictably astounded by this revelation.) 'Mind you, technically the Map belongs to Lupin – he's the only one of them left - but he said I could keep it.'

'Wormtail's still alive,' Ron pointed out.

'He doesn't count!' said Harry shortly.

Fred and George had been watching this with increasingly curious expressions. 'You know Wormtail?'

Harry nodded his confirmation.

'Who is he?' the twins wanted to know.

'Peter Pettigrew,' said Harry shortly. 'So when do we start our practising?' he continued before the twins could get distracted any further.

'Tomorrow,' replied George.

'We'll Apparate here right after we shut up shop. So –'

'– Make sure you're in position, ready.'

'Now, Harry –,'

'– How about us getting that Cloak.'

As Harry led the others back towards the house, he said, 'The only thing we have to watch out for is Ginny wanting to join in our Quidditch practice.'

'She won't,' said Fred.

'She'll be too busy helping Hermione help Mum with all the wedding preparations,' George explained.

_x_

Five o'clock the next afternoon found Harry and Ron at the bottom of the garden. Harry was tossing an old basketball at Ron, who was doing a very good job catching it, whilst employing various acrobatic turns, when something small circled Harry's head. Catching it, he realised it was a paper aeroplane, on which were written the words, _Look down_.

He grinned down at Fred and George's heads as they were briefly revealed. Signalling to Ron, they landed.

While Fred held the Cloak like a tent, George opened a picnic basket. Inside were four goblets, a jar of sweets, and a flask.

Opening the jar, Fred removed two of the sweets, then passed the jar to Harry as he and George began sucking.

Harry looked at the jar, puzzled.

'Well go on, hab one.' Fred sounded like he had a very bad cold.

Not sure what was going on, Harry tentatively took one, then handed the jar to Ron, who looked even more reluctant than Harry.

'These aren't Puking Pastilles or anything, are they?' he asked, watching Harry nervously.

Sucking slowly, Harry's eyes suddenly popped wide open in surprise. 'I can't dasde or sbell anyding,' he tried to say with a very numb tongue. Fred and George grinned at him.

Harry nodded encouragement at Ron. 'Go on, id's ogay.'

Looking doubtful, Ron finally began to suck his sweet.

George returned his attention to the basket. Pouring the flask's contents into the goblets, he plucked a hair from his head. The others followed suit.

'You doo had bethd gib uth thum egdrath, in gathe you ged bag lade,' said Fred.

Harry shrugged at Ron. 'Vair enouv,' he concurred, and began plucking.

Once the hairs were added, they swapped drinks – Harry with George, Fred with Ron.

Ron screwed up his face, then gulped; but Harry was already drinking his as if it was water. As he had guessed, the Polyjuice Potion was tasteless, no doubt thanks to whatever those sweets were; but he was suddenly more concerned with some very familiar sensations: writhing insides, burning, and melting skin. It didn't feel any more pleasant second time around. _And he had to go through this every night for a fortnight?_

Once the transformation had stopped, he looked around at the others. Fred and George were already removing their shirts.

'Gum on, hurry ub and swob, you're wathding dibe.' Fred threw his shirt at Ron. Quickly, Harry and Ron obliged.

'How are we thubbothed do ged do the shob?' asked Ron as Harry picked up his Cloak. _'I gan'd Abbarade!'_

'Hab no vear, liddle brudder,' George explained, pulling a rusty old pillbox out of his back pocket.

'Dudge dad,' Fred pointed to it.

'You bean –' Ron looked worriedly at it. The twins grinned. 'Ith dad legal?' Ron wanted to know.

Harry snorted. 'Ith any ov dith legal?' he pointed out. 'Gum on, our hour'th running oud.'

Donning the Cloak, Harry and Ron held the pillbox between them as Fred touched his wand to it and mouthed 'One, two, three-'

With a jerk, the garden vanished in a swirl of colours and rushing wind.

Landing with a thud, they found themselves in a living room, obviously in Fred and George's flat above Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes; there were boxes of their products stacked against the walls.

Tossing the Portkey and Cloak onto an armchair, Harry looked at Ron. 'I thubbose we'd bethd ged thdarded, den.' And with a shrug, they started moving the furniture back to create a large space.

_x_

They had been practising for about twenty minutes. Harry was doing pretty well, consistently Apparating from one side of the room to the other, but Ron was still having trouble. He had only succeeded in Apparating twice – once into the bedroom, and once into a horizontal position balanced on the back of one of the armchairs – but neither time to a standing position on the other side of the room like he intended. Most of the time he just stood against the wall, his face turning red with pent-up concentration.

'I'm never going to get this,' he complained after the umpteenth failed attempt.

'You are,' said Harry. 'You've done it before. Just think back to the time you did do it, and try to remember what you were thinking about, how you concentrated, all that sort of stuff.'

Ron looked dubiously at Harry.

'Go on,' Harry encouraged. 'Shut your eyes, relax, and think.'

Still looking sceptical, Ron closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Harry watched as his brow creased slightly in concentration then, with a slight turn and a _crack_, Ron disappeared - and didn't reappear anywhere in the room.

Harry thought perhaps he had Apparated into another part of the flat, but Ron didn't call out 'OK' like he did last time. Feeling a few prickles of anxiety, Harry started to search.

Three minutes later the prickles had turned to panic. Harry had checked everywhere – the bedroom, toilet, even downstairs in the shop – but Ron was nowhere to be found. He was wondering if it might be best to Port back to the Burrow and enlist the twins' help, when he was suddenly knocked to the floor by something heavy, which was putting up a pretty good fight. Trying to turn, he caught a glimpse of red hair.

'Fred, I mean Ron, get off – it's me, Harry.'

Ron's struggles lasted half a second more before he finally collapsed back onto Harry and just lay there.

Bucking slightly, Harry managed to wriggle out from under him, then looked at his friend.

Ron was a sight. His shirt was covered in a foul-smelling liquid, as well as being torn and missing two buttons, there were some nasty welts on his left arm, and a bruise starting to darken on his cheek. But probably the worst injury was the massive bump and cut on his forehead, right on the hairline, which was bleeding furiously, starting to stain the rug.

Harry looked around desperately. He needed to get to the twins – and fast. He dragged his friend over to the armchair, wrapped the Cloak around Ron's unconscious form then, gripping his wrist tightly, Harry picked up the pillbox and they were hooked into a swirl of colour.

Landing hard near the edge of a mass of trees, Harry dropped Ron and ran across the lane towards the Burrow. The twins spotted him immediately and began to descend, worried looks on their faces.

'What happened?' asked George.

'Yeah, why are you back early, and –'

'– Where's Ron?'

Harry felt strange talking to himself. 'Back there.'

Dropping their brooms, the twins raced across the lane.

Harry had barely caught up with them when he heard Fred yelp; Harry supposed it would be a bit of a shock to see your bleeding head and arm lying disembodied on the ground before you. George pulled the Cloak back to reveal the rest of the damage.

'What happened?' Fred sounded like he didn't want to believe what he was seeing.

'I don't know,' Harry tried to explain. 'He Disapparated – I don't know where – and then came back like this. He was struggling against something like he was being attacked, then he lost consciousness.' He looked helplessly at the twins. 'I didn't know what else to do.'

'No, you were right to come here,' George assured him. 'The next question is – what to do?'

Fred was sitting on the ground looking horrified. 'I'm going to look like Bill.' He looked up at them. 'You don't suppose he was attacked by a werewolf, do you?'

Harry shrugged. 'I told you, I don't know what happened; he just disappeared.' He looked at George. 'Do something. Conjure up some bandages or something.'

'We can't do anything until we change back. And that's not for –' he checked his watch '– eight more minutes.'

Harry stared at him. 'Eight minutes? But he's bleeding!' And he began taking his shirt off to press against Ron's head wound.

All three of them stared helplessly at Ron. It was probably the longest eight minutes Harry had ever lived through, waiting for the Polyjuice potion to wear off but, finally, Fred's face on the ground before him began to alter slightly, and his body lengthened from a stocky frame to Ron's lankier one.

Glancing at Fred and George, Harry saw they had also returned to their proper selves, and Fred looked fine – shocked, but healthy. Looking back down at Ron, Harry realised the wounds were still very much there. _How were they going to explain this to Mrs Weasley?_

As if on cue, he heard her voice calling from up at the house.

'Uh oh,' muttered George and, grabbing Harry's Cloak, headed towards the lane. A few moments later, he reappeared with the picnic basket. He hurriedly poured another goblet of potion and added one of Ron's hairs. Screwing up his face, he downed the brew, then spoke quickly.

'Fred, you get under the Cloak and get Ron up to his room. I'll try to eat dinner quickly and join you. Harry, you get upstairs when you can without rai –' He was silenced for several moments while his body bubbled until he was Ron again.

Mrs Weasley's voice called again.

'Get moving,' urged George as he grabbed Harry's wrist and dragged him back to the garden just as Mrs Weasley appeared around the corner of the house.

'There you two are – didn't you hear me calling you? Aren't you hungry?' she fussed, not seeming to notice their anxious faces.

Trying to steady his breathing and hoping that Fred was managing to successfully get Ron up towards the house, Harry followed Mrs Weasley inside.

_x_

'Are you all right, Ron?' asked Mrs Weasley as George started to leave the table. 'You've hardly eaten a thing.'

George shrugged at his mother. 'I'm not very hungry, that's all.'

Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'You haven't been getting into any of the stuff for the wedding, have you?'

George donned a guilty look whilst sparing Harry the briefest of glances.

Harry nodded his understanding - nick some food from the pantry. After all, they needed something to feed Ron. He just hoped he would get a chance before Mrs Weasley checked her supplies. Watching George escape his mother's beady look, Harry tried to finish his own supper quickly without looking too suspicious.

Twenty minutes later, feeling very full after a large serve of pudding, Harry excused himself and casually began to make his way upstairs. Once he was out of sight of the others, he quickened his pace, his heart racing faster than his feet until he was knocking on Ron's door.

'It's OK, it's me,' he whispered loudly, glancing around nervously in case anyone else came upstairs.

George (back to himself) let him in.

Fred was sitting beside the bed, holding a clean cloth to the bump. The bruise on Ron's cheek was vanishing before Harry's eyes, but the welts were still on his arm. 'Let's hope they lighten enough to match the scars that brain made,' said Fred, nodding at the light marks on Ron's arms, souvenir of his foray into the Department of Mysteries.

'And what did you do to his cheek?' asked Harry.

George picked up a tub of the bruise-remover they had used on Hermione a year ago. 'I snuck downstairs before and nipped back to the shop to get it while Mum was arguing about the bridesmaids' dresses with Fleur and Ginny.' He handed the Invisibility Cloak to Harry. 'Oh, and you don't have to worry about raiding the pantry – I've done that too.' He grinned at Harry.

Harry returned the grin half-heartedly. 'What happens now?'

Fred stood up. 'You can play nursemaid for a while; I'm hungry.' And without any further ado, he helped himself to a drumstick on the tray by the door.

Seating himself in Fred's place, Harry gingerly lifted a corner of the cloth. The cut was still bleeding.

'Yes,' George commented, 'that one's proving to be a real problem.' He was leafing his way through _The Healer's Helpmate_. 'The bruise should be gone within the hour, and if you two get up early enough, you can be out practising Quidditch before Mum notices anything. Then fake him crashing and hitting his head on a rock or something –'

'– Maybe even scratching his arms in that blackthorn bush near the vegie patch. That should cover up for how he really got –' Fred stopped abruptly as Ron groaned.

Racing to Harry's side, George felt for Ron's pulse.

'Er – my ...' Ron's eyes flickered open, then screwed tightly shut at the brightness of the room. Fred extinguished several candles, reducing the room to almost complete darkness. Ron tried again. Reaching up, he grabbed a fistful of George's shirt and pulled him down towards him. Harry thought perhaps he wanted to whisper something to George; then suddenly he heard a soft sound and George had jumped back from the bed as though he had touched a light socket, wearing a decidedly revolted look on his face.

'He thinks you're Hermione,' chuckled Fred, earning a scathing look from his twin.

'He could just as easily think you're Hermione,' countered George. 'You look the same as me.'

Fred quickly lost his grin.

Ignoring the twins, Harry focused his attention on Ron, who was struggling to open his eyes again. He squinted at Harry, then the twins. 'How did I get here?'

'I brought you back,' Harry explained.

Ron winced as he tried to sit up. 'What happened?'

'We were hoping you could tell us,' George seemed to have gotten over the shock of Ron kissing him.

Ron gazed uncomprehendingly at the three of them for a full minute, then reached up and gingerly felt his head. Groaning, he closed his eyes. 'That bloody bird!'

Harry, Fred and George exchanged glances.

'What bird?' asked Harry.

Ron swore under his breath.

'Ron –' Harry pressed (if Ron was well enough to swear, then he must be getting better); 'where did you Disapparate to?'

Ron groaned again. 'Some shop,' he muttered. 'It looked like a junk shop; I remember there was stuff everywhere. I only got a quick look at it though, because some weird sort of alarm went off and suddenly everything was jumping off the shelves and attacking me. I tried to fight it all off; I know I was casting _Reducto_ a lot; but mostly I was trying to concentrate on getting back to the flat. Then this stupid bird flew at me and hit me with its beak and …' He drew a breath. '… And then I was here.' He looked up at them uncertainly. 'Are you sure I didn't Apparate here?'

Harry waved his hand. 'With all the security on this place?' he quoted Ron's words from yesterday.

Ron looked uncertain. 'I really Apparated back to the flat?'

Harry nodded. 'You landed right on top of me.'

'I Apparated to where I meant to?'

All three of them nodded.

Ron's expression changed to awestruck. 'I really did it,' he breathed.

Fred finished the chicken. 'Well, at least now we know what to do to get you to pass your test – get an angry bird to attack you.'

It was a good thing Mrs Weasley wasn't around to hear Ron's retort.

The twins left at about ten, once more employing Harry's Cloak and slipping out as their mother unlocked the kitchen door to allow Arthur admittance upon his return from work. They had agreed to return the next evening, but only to check on Ron's progress, not to switch places. 'You can afford to miss one hour,' George had told Ron as they stood up to leave. 'You just concentrate on getting better without making Mum suspicious.' And with bids of good luck, they were gone.

The next morning, Harry drank some of the Polyjuice Potion the twins had left behind, having added one of the hairs Ron had contributed before he was injured, then went downstairs.

Mr Weasley, Bill, Fleur and Hermione were already halfway through breakfast when he entered the kitchen, Bill hidden behind a copy of _The Daily Prophet._

'…very strange business that,' Mr Weasley was telling Bill (Harry noticed the headline on the _Prophet – BREAK IN AT BORGIN AND BURKES)_. 'They can't quite work out how it happened. There was no sign of forced entry and nothing seems to have been taken; mind you, I doubt old Borgin would admit it even if something _was _missing, with all the dodgy stuff he likes to deal in. The shop was an absolute shambles though; half the contents disintegrated. About the only thing which wasn't touched was a gold statue of a hawk high up on a top shelf … sapphires for eyes … be worth a bit. Borgin got real touchy when they said they wanted to inspect it more closely. They thought it might have been planted by whoever broke in – well, the whole thing did look rather like a warning – but Borgin was adamant it was one of his things and that he'd had it for years. Oh, hi Ron, you're up early.'

Harry muttered greetings to everyone as he sat down.

He let Mrs Weasley think he (Ron) had gone to sleep soon after leaving the table the night before (earning a telling-off for the food he had stuffed himself with from the wedding supplies), then wandered outside to get in some Quidditch practise before 'Harry', who had gone to bed much later, woke up.

An hour after he had drunk the Polyjuice, he flew cautiously around the orchard, coming up on the far side of the house where Ron's bedroom window was. Balancing carefully and trying not to knock the broom against the house, he swapped places with Ron, tossed his shirt at him, and then headed downstairs, pulling his own T-shirt over his head and yawning as he went. He was a little unsure how he was going to get through another of Mrs Weasley's breakfasts, but she helped him out by telling him that Ron was already out and about.

Harry jumped up quickly. 'I'd better join him; I don't want him to get too much better than me; McGonagall might make _him_ captain instead.'

Mrs Weasley looked like she would be delighted at this development. 'What about breakfast?' she called, a frying pan in one hand, teapot in the other.

Harry raced back and began ladling scrambled eggs and bacon between two slices of toast, shoved another couple of pieces of toast in the back pocket of his jeans, and went racing out the door before Mrs Weasley could raise any more objections.

Harry and Ron had decided an hour before lunch would be the best time for Ron to 'crash'; Ron had even gone one further than Fred and George and suggested he fly _through_ the blackthorn bush and hit his head on one of the old wooden fence posts which had splintered and rotted with age so that it almost resembled a spear. With the enchantments on the boundary, it would cause a magical injury and go towards explaining why his head wouldn't stop bleeding. Ron's only concern was whether or not he could last that long. Having missed supper and most of breakfast, as well as all the blood he had lost since yesterday, he was feeling very weak.

Hiding in the orchard where they wouldn't be seen so easily, they passed the morning discussing the break-in at Borgin and Burkes (Ron agreed that was probably where he had wound up), punctuated by occasional cries of, 'Oh, well done, Ron,' from Harry and tossing tennis balls so that they soared just above the trees.

When the time came, they mounted their brooms (Ron on Harry's Firebolt), and took off towards the vegetable patch.

Ron pulled up right at the fence then, as Harry landed beside him, he gritted his teeth and thrust his arms into the blackthorn bush, moving them back and forth a couple of times.

As he fell back onto the ground, Harry removed the bandage stuck to Ron's head, dragged him over to lie next to the guilty fencepost, dropped Ron's Cleansweep on the orchard side of the blackthorn bush, then stood back to survey the scene. Nodding his satisfaction, he grabbed his Firebolt and quickly flew back to the house.

'I really don't know why you boys can't play something a little less dangerous,' Mrs Weasley complained as she dabbed at Ron's head as he sat at the kitchen table. 'You'll be the death of me one of these days.'

Ron winced. 'You had no objections to us staying out of your way.'

'Well, from now on, I want Percy to play with you, so he can keep an eye on both of you.' She glared at Harry as if it was somehow his fault that Ron had crashed his broom. Both Harry and Ron fought very hard not to exchange panicked looks (what about their Apparition practice?) while Ginny begged her mother to let her play with them ('No, I need you here to help with the wedding preparations.') and Percy indignantly claimed that he had far more important things to do than look after disobedient teenagers.

'How are we disobedient?' Ron tried to dodge his mother's ministrations. 'We were only practising Quidditch!'

Percy puffed up like an owl. 'According to Ministry records, both of you crossed the boundaries of this property several times late yesterday afternoon.'

Mrs Weasley spun around to look at Percy. 'What are you talking about, Percy? They were down at the bottom of the garden all afternoon; I saw them when I went to get the washing.'

Percy continued to stare importantly at them. 'I have it from the Minister himself. He's been keeping a close watch on this place,' (Mrs Weasley went very still), 'and he is most displeased with Harry's behaviour. If you ask me, he won't be getting off so lightly at his hearing this time.'

'Do you mean to tell me that Rufus Scrimgeour has people watching this place for purposes other than to ensure _Harry's protection?_' Mrs Weasley's voice had started dangerously quiet but had risen to a very loud shriek by the time she had finished. Harry was reminded of Mrs Black.

Percy seemed to realise he had said more than he should have; he scurried outside as his mother gave chase, shouting that she wanted to know exactly what Scrimgeour was up to.

Ron looked around at the others. 'At least Mum won't be trying to pretend everything's fine with Percy around anymore.'

Hermione sat on the now-vacant chair and began dabbing at Ron's arms.

Ginny rested her chin in her hands and asked, 'So what _were_ you two doing outside that fence yesterday?'

The following afternoon, their routine was back to normal. Both Fred and George seemed to think that the Ministry was actually _watching _the place, not monitoring it so, unlike the Marauders' Map, which showed who a person was, regardless of what they looked like, the Ministry only went on looks, not what a person was inside.

'Look at their attitude towards Hagrid and Lupin,' George pointed out.

They decided to test the theory by making certain that the only people who crossed the lane (invisible, of course) _looked _like Fred and George at the time, no matter who they really were.

No further accusations were forthcoming from Percy.

By the time the afternoon before their tests arrived, Ron was consistently Apparating to any place in the flat that he wanted. When he said he was going to Apparate back to the Burrow, Harry had to hastily step in and tell him it might be tempting fate a little; after all, he wouldn't need to Apparate halfway across the country for his test. (Ron didn't know that it was impossible to Apparate into or out of the flat and shop between five and six each evening – Fred and George had placed a special ward on the place to prevent a repeat of Borgin and Burkes.)

'Let's just get your licence first, then you can go berserk.'

_x_

The day before Harry's birthday dawned clear and sunny, promising to be yet another warm one. Harry had forced himself to eat breakfast so Ron wouldn't realise he was worried; it would only make Ron nervous and, for once, he didn't seem perturbed by the upcoming test. Harry's main concern, as they left with Mr Weasley to catch the Knight Bus to London (with wishes of luck from Hermione, Ginny and Mrs Weasley) was that he would be turned away before he could take the test – after all, he was still only sixteen. Would one day make a difference? He felt for the notice in his pocket. It had definitely said today's date.

His finger lightly brushed the locket he and Dumbledore had retrieved, and which had cost Dumbledore his life. _No! Snape had cost Dumbledore his life!_ Harry felt his emotions bubbling deep inside him and struggled to keep them down there. The last thing he needed right now was to lose his focus. First, pass his Apparition test, _then_ worry about Snape and the Horcruxes.

He was concentrating so hard, he barely noticed the trip to London which, given Ernie Prang's driving skills, was amazing in itself. Before he knew it, they were pulling up in front of a driving school in Islington. Harry looked at Mr Weasley, confused.

'It's all right, Harry, the office we want is through there.' Mr Weasley pointed past the reception area. The receptionist gave them a knowing wink as they passed, then her jaw dropped slightly as her eyes fell upon Harry's scar. Slightly disconcerted, he scurried after Mr Weasley, who led them into the men's' bathroom.

Even more puzzled, Harry watched as Mr Weasley tapped the door to the third cubicle five times with his wand, then the entire room began to slowly sink like an elevator. If Harry hadn't gone through a similar experience getting into the Ministry of Magic, he would have been terrified.

'Er, Mr Weasley?' Harry asked tentatively.

'Yes, Harry.' Mr Weasley was very chipper.

'Aren't the Apparition tests done at the Ministry?'

'Normally.' Mr Weasley grinned smugly. 'But they've moved the office for the moment for _security_ reasons.' He gave Harry a conspiratorial wink. Harry had no idea what he meant by it.

He pressed on. 'And the woman on the front desk – is she one of us?'

'Who, Mildred? A Squib. Can't levitate a feather with her own breath, but she's a brilliant typist; does an excellent job here.' And he started bouncing up and down on his toes, glancing from Harry to Ron, a silly grin on his face.

Without so much as a jolt, the bathroom came to a stop. Mr Weasley opened the door which would normally have led back to the reception desk of the driving school and Harry found, instead, that he was facing a large room filled with a variety of sectioned areas: some were filled with cushions, some with mirrors, some with different coloured circles on the floor. One even seemed to house a lake with numerous stepping stones and giant leaves floating on its surface.

'Hello Harry, Ron,' said a voice to their left.

Turning, Harry saw fellow Hogwarts students, Neville Longbottom and, behind him, Ernie Macmillan. _Of course_ – Ernie Macmillan had been in Potions the day Harry finally succeeded in procuring the Horcrux memory from Slughorn; as well as …

'I don't think he's coming,' said Neville, a slightly nervous quaver starting to creep into his voice.

'Who?' asked Ron.

'Malfoy,' replied Neville. 'No one's seen or heard of him since …' His voice died away as a squat, bald man approached, holding a clipboard.

He frowned when he spotted Mr Weasley. 'Hello Arthur. Why are you here? I thought the Ministry had approved our security; they were here just the other –'

He froze as he spotted Harry. His eyes did the familiar flick up to Harry's forehead, then he quickly consulted his clipboard.

'Ah, yes,' he muttered. 'Special case.'

Looking up at them with a gruff expression, he said, 'Well, shall we begin?' and waved for Ron to follow him.

'Good luck,' Mr Weasley called, giving the air a punch.

Ernie stood to take Ron's place twenty minutes later.

Ron was grinning from ear to ear, waving a ribbon-tied scroll. 'I did it – no problems. You'll do fine, I know it!'

'But what about me?' Neville's melancholic voice asked from Harry's other side. 'My gran won't let me go back to school if I'm gonna be the only one in the class without a licence.'

'You'll be fine,' Harry tried to encourage him. 'I mean, you were always hopeless at Defence, but you ended up being one of the best in the DA, so you _can_ do stuff you don't think you can when you put your mind to it.'

Neville still didn't look convinced.

Harry thought a moment. 'OK, just think of your destination as being a sick _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ and you're the only one who can help it.'

Neville looked towards the test area as if trying to picture sick plants there. He shook his head hopelessly.

Harry took a deep breath, crossed his fingers and hoped he wasn't going too far. 'Imagine that it's Bellatrix Lestrange standing beside your parents' beds at St Mungo's.'

Harry heard Ron gasp. Bellatrix Lestrange was one of the Death Eaters who had tortured Neville's parents into insanity. Neville stared open-mouthed towards the test area for several moments, then his back seemed to straighten and his face hardened into a stoic expression as Ernie came striding towards them, beaming and waving his scroll.

Standing, Neville walked past Mr Weasley like a gladiator marching into an arena, without so much as a backwards glance. Fifteen minutes later, Harry was surprised to see him walking back towards them and feared that Neville had failed; his face certainly didn't display the elation which Ron and Ernie's had.

The examiner came striding along in his wake, a look of pure amazement on his face. 'Never, in all my years of testing, have I been witness to such a test. He's definitely his father through and through. They're the only two people I've ever tested who have scored higher than four hundred. _You_,' (he pointed at Harry) 'have got quite a mark to try to measure up to.' And he beckoned for Harry to follow him.

Glancing nervously at Ron and Mr Weasley, both of whom looked stunned by Neville's performance, Harry suddenly felt like he was walking to his death.

_x_

'I told you you'd do it!' Hermione wrapped herself around Ron, who was still grinning broadly. Harry noticed Ginny glance towards him and thought for one panic-filled moment that she would offer him a physical token of appreciation as well, but she just muttered, 'Congratulations,' and hurried upstairs.

Mrs Weasley watched her leave, then looked at Harry, frowning. Harry decided it would be prudent to seek the privacy of Ron's room before she could ask what that was all about.

Ten minutes later, she knocked on Ron's bedroom door and pushed her way in.

'Are you going somewhere?' she asked, glancing at Harry's half-packed trunk. Her eyes narrowed. 'You're not thinking of running away, are you?' She glared disapprovingly at Harry.

'No, Mrs Weasley,' Harry sighed. 'I just want to be prepared, in case … well … you know …' He couldn't finish.

Mrs Weasley looked at him. 'You don't know what will happen, dear,' she said gently. 'No one does. All you can do is show them your wand, and prove you didn't do anything.' Her expression hardened. 'And if they abide by their own laws, they'll have no choice _but_ to let you off – despite what Percy says.'

Harry blinked. It was the first time in two years that he had heard Mrs Weasley mention her third son without bursting into tears. He didn't know what to say. He just stood there, watching, as she laid his and Ron's freshly-laundered robes on their beds, then she picked up the laundry basket and left.


	4. Chapter 4: The Unexpected Ally

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER FOUR –**

**The Unexpected Ally**

Harry woke next morning to find several presents perched on the end of his bed. He looked at them with a hollow feeling in his stomach. He wasn't certain he wanted to open them, in case he was sent to Azkaban later that day; it would only make it that much harder to bear, knowing what he was missing.

'Happy birthday.' Ron's voice sounded quite the opposite of his sentiment.

Harry looked over at him and saw his own anxiety reflected in Ron's eyes.

Ron glanced at the presents. 'Aren't you going to open them?'

Harry shrugged. 'Not yet. I thought I might save them for later, after … you know. I'd enjoy them more then.'

'Not feeling very happy?' a voice asked from the doorway.

Ron swore. 'Don't you ever knock?' he wanted to know as he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

'Oh, stop being silly, Ron.' Hermione didn't even glance at him; her attention was focused on Harry.

'Why are you so bright?' asked Harry as she sat down on the edge of his bed.

'Why are you so glum?' countered Hermione. 'After all, it _is _your birthday – your _seventeenth_ birthday. You're a man now.'

'Yeah, so I can easily be sent to Azkaban.'

'They don't have a case against you. You didn't do anything; my wand will prove that.'

'And you think that will stop them? Hermione,' Harry looked beseechingly at her, 'you've never been before the Wizengamot –'

'Dad said it was supposed to be a small hearing, like last …' Ron's voice faded away.

Harry raised his brows at him. 'Like last time? It _was_ supposed to be a small hearing before Madam Bones, in her office. But it ended up being before the entire Wizengamot; even Dumbledore commented on it. _And _they changed the time without telling me.'

'But being before the Wizengamot ended up being a good thing though, didn't it?' Hermione pointed out. 'After all, they voted quite resoundingly in your favour.'

Harry sighed. 'Yeah, but that was with Fudge in charge. Scrimgeour seems to have a few more brains. And he's got double reason to hate me – not only have I made the Ministry look bad because they spent a year trying to discredit me and pretend Voldemort wasn't back, but I keep turning down Scrimgeour's requests to support them.' He glowered darkly. 'You watch! I bet you it'll be before select members of the Wizengamot, ones Scrimgeour knows will support him; it'll be quick, they won't give us a chance to defend ourselves or present evidence,' (he looked pointedly at Hermione), 'then it's a show of hands and off to Azkaban.'

Ron paled noticeably.

Hermione shook her head, refusing to believe Harry's prediction. 'But wizarding law works the same as Muggle law – you're innocent until proven guilty, and _they have no proof!_' She stressed every word emphatically.

Harry was starting to feel angry. Why wouldn't she see how dangerous the situation was? At least Ron seemed to appreciate their predicament. 'Do you really think the law will make any difference to Scrimgeour? He's Minister; he's answerable to no one!' And tossing aside the bedcovers, he grabbed his dressing gown and stormed out of the room.

Breakfast was a very stilted affair. Harry was feeling both angry and terrified and wanted to yell at Mrs Weasley to stop fussing over him, trying to make him eat. Hermione seemed to be having little trouble tucking into breakfast, but Ron looked like he was trying to chew carpet. Harry couldn't remember starting a worse birthday, and he'd had plenty of pretty bad ones.

Finally, Mr Weasley stood up. Ron jumped and glanced at his watch. 'It's only five thirty!' he squeaked.

'Harry wants to get there in plenty of time,' Mr Weasley explained. 'And after the switch they pulled last time, I'm inclined to agree that it would be a good idea.'

'Will you two stop panicking,' scolded Hermione. 'I checked our notices and the hearing is before the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, _not_ the Wizengamot, and they can't switch without giving us two months notice in writing – it says so in the _Charter of Magical Law_, section 27, subsection 5.'

Mr Weasley looked slightly taken aback by Hermione's knowledge of wizarding law. Ron seemed to be buoyed by the news that it wouldn't be a complicated affair, but Harry still wasn't convinced.

'Was this law in place two years ago?'

'Of course!' replied Hermione. 'Why?'

'Because I wasn't given _any_ notice that the time, place or procedure had been changed, let alone two months in writing.'

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. 'I'm telling you, Harry; you're worrying for nothing. All we have to do is give the department head my wand to examine,' ('Break in two, more like,' muttered Harry), 'and they'll let you go. And they'll then have to let the rest of us go because we're being charged as your _accessories_; so if you haven't committed any crime, we can't have helped you do it,' she finished.

'Who _is_ head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now that Madam Bones is dead?' asked Harry, as Mr Weasley indicated for them to form a line in front of the fireplace.

Mr Weasley cleared his throat. 'Dolores Umbridge.'

Hermione finally looked worried.

_x_

The trip from Fred and George's shop (Fred had unlocked the door for them, yawning so widely, his jaw cracked) gave Harry a glimpse of London between worlds: one half was only just starting to wake up, and the other half was turning in for the night. On the Underground, late-night clubbers were heading home, smelling of cigarette smoke and cocktails and wearing bright, glittering clothes which revealed more flesh than they covered, then when they rode the escalator up to the street, their nostrils were assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baking bread.

When they got down into the Ministry, the main thing which Harry noticed was the Fountain of the Brethren which Dumbledore and Voldemort had done a good job trying to destroy at the end of Harry's fifth year. The wizard's head, which Dumbledore had used as a Portkey to send Harry back to Hogwarts the night Sirius died, was missing, no doubt buried in a cupboard in McGonagall's office. The witch was still smiling like a beauty contestant, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the fact that half her chin was missing. She also wobbled dangerously at the waist; her left side and hip had been blasted away. The centaur was pressing a very cracked behind against her to steady her, its chipped tail raised in a pose that made Harry crack a nervous laugh. He could think of several centaurs who would love to adopt exactly that attitude with the wizarding community.

The other two statues were busily holding down what was left of the wizard; the house-elf, grinning maliciously, had even gone so far as to ram a wand up the wizard's –

Harry heard Hermione try to stifle a horrified gasp as she laid eyes on the house-elf.

'Yes,' Mr Weasley sounded embarrassed, 'they didn't intend for that to happen. When they tried to repair the fountain, the statues just lined up stiffly. So they cast spells to make them act more naturally and _that_ happened. They can't even get the water to stop.'

And water was indeed gushing forcefully from every hole on the statues, many of the streams overshooting the outer edge of the fountain bed. An army of mops was dashing about haphazardly, reminding Harry of a cartoon he had seen on television when he was little.

Mr Weasley led them in a wide arc around the fountain to the elevators. When they reached level two (Department of Magical Law Enforcement) where Mr Weasley worked, Harry was surprised that he didn't get out.

'Er, isn't this your floor, Mr Weasley?'

Mr Weasley frowned at Harry. 'Didn't Molly tell you? I was promoted. I'm up on the first floor now. And a good thing too; we needed far more space. I've even got windows.' And he grinned smugly at Harry.

As Mr Weasley held the elevator door for them at the first floor, Harry hesitated.

'Get a move on, Harry.' Hermione pushed him from behind. Trotting after Mr Weasley, Harry said, 'I was kind of hoping to camp outside Umbridge's office.'

'Not just yet.' Mr Weasley ushered them through a pair of doors halfway down the corridor on which gleamed the words _Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects._

Harry's jaw dropped; he couldn't help it. The office before him was definitely an improvement on the broom cupboard-sized one Mr Weasley had occupied on the second floor. It was probably even larger than it looked because approximately three quarters of it was filled with cupboards and shelves overflowing with boxes, bottles, tins and rolls of parchment. To one side, crammed between a pile of parchment marked _Spell to Defend against Foreign Occupation of the Mind_ and a large jar of yellow slime, Harry saw the Metamorph medals Mr Weasley had told Mrs Weasley about the night Dumbledore had taken Harry to the Burrow.

The remainder of the office was occupied by four desks, with plenty of space between them. Pulling out a chair at the desk in front of a gleaming stained-glass window of what looked like Merlin, Mr Weasley sat down, indicating for the others to pull up chairs from the other desks.

Harry looked around appreciatively. 'Nice office, Mr Weasley. I especially like the window.'

'It's a bit cramped, isn't it?' Hermione stared interestedly at the confiscated objects.

'Believe me, Hermione,' said Harry. 'There's _no way_ you could get all this into Mr Weasley's old office. It was smaller than a broom cupboard.'

Hermione looked dubious at this claim, but when both Ron and his dad nodded agreement, she looked unsure.

'Why would they put you in such a tiny space? Couldn't they have cast a spell to make the inside larger?'

Mr Weasley shook his head. 'Fudge give someone who meddles in Muggle items more than half the space they need? I thought you understood how Ministry politics worked. _But_,' he clapped his hand together cheerfully, 'that was when Fudge was in charge. Things have definitely changed since Scrimgeour took over. Take this office, for instance. There's no way Fudge would have allowed part of his floor to be occupied by a department which worked at something other than licking his boots.'

He grinned at Hermione's shocked face. 'It's all right, Hermione; I've been watching the games played here for a very long time. I know _exactly_ what can be achieved if you're in it for yourself rather than your job. This floor is a classic example: the stained-glass windows, the carpet (feather-soft, heated and self-cleaning), even the size of the floor itself – twice as large as it was when Millicent Bagnold was Minister. All done while Fudge was in office. Oh, he liked his luxury, did Fudge. Rumour even has it that there used to be a Jacuzzi where we're sitting.'

'All paid for by Mr Malfoy?' Harry speculated.

'A fair chunk of it, at least. Good thing he's in Azkaban – he can't demand a refund.' Mr Weasley looked up as a memo flapped in front of his face. It seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

Harry tensed. Had they changed the time and were letting them know too late again?

Mr Weasley noticed Harry's reaction. 'It's OK, just a note from Tonks downstairs. Umbridge has arrived.'

Harry jumped up and was halfway to the door when Mr Weasley spoke. 'You'll be wanting these,' he said.

Turning, Harry saw him pull an Invisibility Cloak, a wand and a sheet of parchment from under his desk.

'Moody's' he explained, as Harry took the Cloak. 'And this –' he held up the parchment, '- is an XPress memo. Whisper to it what you want it to say, then touch it with a wand. It will vanish and appear at the person it's addressed to. Use Lupin's wand since you don't have yours. Oh, and Tonks will meet you at the lift.' And with a final grin, he returned his attention to the scrolls on his desk.

When the lift reached the second floor, Tonks barely had a toe through the doorway when she suddenly clapped herself on the forehead.

'Problem, Tonks?' asked a tall wizard with a greying moustache as he pushed past her to get on the elevator. (Harry pressed back against the wall to avoid being bumped.)

'Yes, Paddy. I forgot those files Robards wanted to check. I'll catch you up, OK?' And waving a hand at him, she marched away from the elevator.

Harry took the hint and followed, weaving between cubicles and around people. Every so often, Tonks would stop to have a quick word with colleagues, giving Harry a chance to catch up.

Then they left the cubicled area and entered a long corridor on the opposite side to where Mr Weasley's office had been. Tonks looked up and down the corridor, quietly murmured, 'Last door on the left,' then hurried back the way they had come.

Harry had only gone halfway along the corridor, however, when Umbridge came out of her office. Fortunately, the corridor was wide enough that he was able to avoid being brushed by her as she waddled past on her short legs. Umbridge was smiling, but there was nothing sickly-sweet about it now; she looked more like the proverbial cat licking its cream-covered face.

With a feeling of foreboding, Harry hurried after her as carefully as he could.

As they got on the elevator, he supposed he wasn't really all that surprised when her stubby, ring-covered fingers pressed the button for the ninth floor, nor that she turned from the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries (Harry's heart tightened at the sight of the door), to go down the stairs leading to the old courtrooms.

He hesitated for a moment as she entered Courtroom Ten; should he send the memo now, or find out exactly what they were facing? Just as she was about to pull the door to, he quickly squeezed through the gap.

Looking around, Harry forced down the emotions threatening to surface. He definitely did not like this room. It was empty except for Umbridge, Scrimgeour, who was already seated at the judges' bench where Fudge had sat, and Percy, getting things set up at his seat – quills, scrolls and ink bottles.

Much as he didn't want to go anywhere near it, Harry decided next to the chained chair in the centre of the room would probably be the safest place to park himself so he wouldn't be bumped at all.

'Ah, good, Dolores, you're here!' Scrimgeour greeted Umbridge as she slowly stumped up the stairs to Madam Bones's old seat.

'Yes, Minister. I've got an owl in my office, waiting to take the changed details to Weasley's house.' (Harry's eyes narrowed.) 'It has instructions not to leave for another hour. When will the others be here?'

'They should arrive within the half hour. Then we can begin and finally force Potter into a position where he will have to co-operate with the Ministry or suffer the consequences.'

Harry's insides did a somersault. _Half an hour?_ Sitting down behind the chained chair, making certain the Cloak was draped completely over him, he quickly cast _Muffliato_ to the chamber in general, then began whispering to the XPress memo.

Half an hour later, the jury had increase by twelve. Harry didn't know any of them, but from what he could hear of their comments and conversations, they were very pro-Scrimgeour, anti-him. He started to panic – should he remove Moody's Cloak and reveal himself or try to sneak out of the courtroom and back up to Mr Weasley's office?

He had just decided he should go for help and started moving towards the door, wondering how he was going to get through unnoticed, when it flew open with a bang. Everyone stopped muttering and Scrimgeour looked puzzled. Mr Weasley was holding the door open, making a lot of fuss telling the others to hurry up, they didn't have all day.

Pushing past him, Harry felt a slip of paper pressed into his hand, which told him to leave the wand and Cloak in the corridor and pretend he was straggling after the others. Complying, he re-entered the courtroom and bumped straight into Hermione, who had stopped just inside the door, staring around at the room, stunned.

'Good luck, you lot,' said Mr Weasley cheerily, then marched off along the corridor.

Scrimgeour was on his feet, glaring down at them with a thunderous expression on his face. _'WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?' _he roared.

'What is the meaning of what?' asked Harry coolly, glancing around at the Wizengamot. They were, for the most part, getting over the initial shock of the defendants arriving, and were slowly resuming their smug stances, no doubt believing the hearing would be a whitewash, regardless of whether Harry and the others were present or not.

And Harry was inclined to agree with them. He really couldn't see it making much difference to the outcome, when every one of Scrimgeour's buddies would find them all guilty on principle.

Scrimgeour stood on the judge's balcony, his face changing from red to purple. _'WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY BURSTING IN HERE LIKE THIS?'_

Harry held his gaze. 'Oh, I'm sorry, aren't we supposed to be present at our own hearing?' Scrimgeour flushed. 'I mean, that was the idea wasn't it? Don't notify us of any change for another,' (he glanced at his watch) 'half an hour.' He glanced up to see Umbridge had leapt to her feet.

'How – how –,'

'How did I know you were planning to steamroll us?' Harry gave a disgusted grunt. Hermione's eyes widened, no doubt thinking he was going too far. He probably was, but he didn't care any more. 'After the stunt the Ministry tried to pull last time you had me in here, do you really think I wasn't going to make sure it didn't happen again?'

Umbridge spluttered. 'You were _spying_ on me?'

'No,' Harry glared at her. 'I just know you and the lengths you'll go to to get me out of the way. Do your cronies know you were the one who ordered those Dementors to come after me and my cousin two years ago? Or that you tried to use the Cruciatus curse on me to get me to tell you what I was doing when I thought Sirius had been kidnapped by Vol-' (there was a collective shudder through the room) '_-demort's'_ (Harry stressed the syllables) 'gang? Or that you were using illegal instruments of torture on students?' And he held up his right fist, showing the scarred words _I must not tell lies_.

The members seated around the room shifted nervously, as if trying to put as much distance as possible between Umbridge and themselves.

Umbridge adopted her sickly-sweet smile again. 'And where is the evidence to support your claims?'

'It's all here.' Harry tapped his head. 'Fetch a Pensieve! I'll prove every horrible thing you ever did or said to me.'

Scrimgeour looked from Harry to Umbridge and back, then cleared his throat. 'Madam Umbridge is not the one on trial here. _You_ are. And it is time we commenced proceedings.' He nodded at Percy, who had been staring at Harry with a disgusted look but had yet to put quill to parchment.

'Before everyone is seated, Minister?' A pleasant voice to Harry's right made him jump.

Looking around, he saw a line of serious-looking witches and wizards, all wearing plum-coloured robes with a silver W, file into the courtroom and start to make their way up to their seats in the stands. The witch who had spoken glanced at each of Scrimgeour's jury as if committing their faces to memory. As she sat beside Scrimgeour in Umbridge's old seat, she looked down at Harry and gave him the tiniest of winks.

Scrimgeour gazed around at the new arrivals, a most dissatisfied expression on his face. They outnumbered his selected allies by three to one, and every one of them was returning his look most coolly.

The spokeswitch for the group broke the silence. 'What's the matter, Minister? You look almost frightened to see us. But surely it should not be surprising for the entire Wizengamot to be present at a hearing before the Wizengamot, even if said hearing was scheduled to be heard on the second floor before one arbitrator?' She inclined her head at Umbridge. 'Or perhaps your reaction is because you realised you had forgotten to notify us. After all, had we not, due to a fortunate accident, already been here at the Ministry, you would have risked a mistrial, and that would have been most unlucky for justice; and we all know how important justice is to the Ministry, especially with regards to such an important case as this.' And she again gave Harry, Ron and Hermione a tiny wink.

Both Scrimgeour and Umbridge looked as though the balcony had collapsed beneath them. It took several minutes before Scrimgeour began to recover, during which the atmosphere was colder than an iceberg. When he did finally resume his seat, he looked as though Umbridge's saucer of cream had hit him squarely in the face.

'Yes, very well.' His voice was muffled by the sound of much parchment rustling. He cleared his throat nervously. 'Very well, the accused being present –'

'Not all of the accused are present, Minister.' The witch's pleasant voice once more stopped Scrimgeour in his tracks. 'Was not a Mrs Arabella Figg also to stand trial alongside those already here?'

Scrimgeour's look would have stopped a troll. He opened his mouth, no doubt to dismiss the witch's concerns, but was stopped by the sound of the courtroom door opening again. Everyone looked across to see Mrs Figg shuffling into the room, complete with batty look and carpet slippers. As she reached Harry, Ron and Hermione, she stared down at her feet, as if she was too afraid to look up at the court.

Scrimgeour and Umbridge exchanged a quick glance. Umbridge whispered something to Scrimgeour and Harry's stomach tightened as she once more began to grin triumphantly, as if she still had a card up her sleeve which nobody else knew about.

Scrimgeour cleared his throat yet again. 'Very well. _All _the accused being present,' (he looked pointed at the witch on his right), 'let us begin.'

Percy raised his quill, ready; Harry noticed Ron glare disgustedly at him.

Scrimgeour's voice boomed through the courtroom. 'Hearing of the thirty-first of July, before the Committee of Magical Law, into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, the International Statute of Secrecy, and the Agreement for the Management of Good Wizard-Muggle Relations, by Harry James Potter, resident of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey; and aided by Ronald Phineus Weasley, resident of The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, Derbyshire, Hermione Kathleen Granger, resident of number twenty-seven, Rabbit Avenue, Bloomsbury, Devon, and Arabella Doreen Figg, resident of number sixteen, Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey.

'Interrogators: Rufus Felix Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.' Scrimgeour cleared his throat again. 'Patricia Clara Capsworth, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.' (Harry glanced uncertainly at the auburn-haired witch to Scrimgeour's right; her pale blue eyes twinkled down at him.) 'Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley.' Scrimgeour looked around at those he had named.

His gaze finally fell upon Harry, and did not waver as he continued. 'You, Harry James Potter, do hereby stand accused of illicitly employing Freezing Charms upon Muggles, and then applying unlawful curses upon the aforementioned Muggles. You also stand accused of encouraging the co-operation of your co-offenders –' (Hermione gasped audibly), '– who stand accused of aiding and abetting you in your law-breaking. You have greatly undermined Wizard/Muggle relations, and risked the exposure of our world by ensuring your curses continue to be evident throughout the Muggle community within which your victims habitually mingle. You have received numerous warnings about flagrant disregard for the laws protecting our world, and have previously appeared before this Court with regard to matters concerning these breaches. Yet you continue to risk both your freedom and that of your co-offenders in order to engage in Muggle-baiting practices employed most commonly by Dark wizards supporting He Who Must Not Be Named.

'You have heard the charges against you. How do you plead?' And he glared fixedly at Harry.

Harry felt like his head was spinning. _Dark wizards supporting He Who Must Not Be Named? _And what happened to innocent until proven guilty? He had noticed, and he was certain Hermione had as well, that Scrimgeour had stopped using the words 'stand accused' halfway through his speech, and spoken as if Harry had already been tried and found guilty of everything he had ever done which was not under the immediate direction of the Ministry.

Harry stared up at Scrimgeour. 'Did you just call me a Death Eater?' he asked, his voice as cold as he could make it.

A ripple seemed to shudder throughout the Wizengamot. Scrimgeour's expression darkened. 'You are not here to ask questions, but to answer them. Now,' he glared down at Harry, 'how do you plead?'

'To what? Being a Death Eater?' Harry felt Hermione grip his shoulder warningly. 'Not guilty. And here's the proof!' Pulling his left sleeve up, he held his arm aloft for all present to see. 'See. No Dark Mark Protean Charm!'

Scrimgeour looked very affronted by Harry's actions. 'How do you plead to the other charges?'

'Which ones?' Harry countered. 'The ones I supposedly–' (_'Allegedly!'_ muttered Hermione) ' – _allegedly_ committed, or the ones you just tried to convince the court I've already been found guilty of?' He shrugged his shoulder out of Hermione's grip. 'You're as pathetic as Fudge was. He didn't like me either, all because I told the truth and made his perfect little world not so perfect anymore. And now, because I won't be your poster boy and support you in your efforts to throw innocent people into Azkaban, you lot are once again trying to get me out of the way for something I didn't do!'

'So is that your answer – not guilty?' Scrimgeour still glowered at them.

'Of course he's not guilty!' Hermione spoke up before Harry could reply. All heads turned towards her. 'We could stand here all day arguing this back and forth, but there's really a much faster and more accurate way of settling this matter once and for all.'

Harry's insides squirmed. She wasn't going to suggest Veritaserum, was she?

'Test Harry's wand! That will prove he didn't perform those curses.' Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Umbridge, who had moved forwards on the bench to gaze down at her.

Scrimgeour frowned. Harry could almost hear the thoughts racing through his mind. Taking Hermione up on her offer would be the most effective way of proving Harry's guilt, but why would she play so willingly into the Ministry's hands?

Umbridge, meanwhile, was licking her wide toadlike lips with a fat stubby tongue. 'If Miss Granger is happy to provide us with incriminating evidence, Minister,' she simpered, 'I think we should accept the offer.' She gazed triumphantly between Hermione and Harry.

Scrimgeour still looked uncertain, but as most of the Wizengamot were now gazing at him expectantly, he seemed to think he didn't have much choice. 'Oh, very well,' he growled. 'Let's get this over with. Weasley?'

Percy jumped up and ran along the front bench, removing Harry's wand from his robes. He went to hand it to Scrimgeour, but Patricia Capsworth calmly reached across and took the wand just as the Minister was about to take it from Percy.

Both Scrimgeour and Umbridge looked affronted.

'I think you will find that, as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, _I_ am the one who needs to perform the test on Potter's wand.' There was no longer any simpering tone in Umbridge's voice.

'And if you read the _Wizarding Charter of Rights_, you will find that, under _Right to Impartial Judgement_, paragraph eighty-three, such tests must be performed by an impartial judge.' replied Madam Capsworth.

Umbridge stood up, which, in Harry's opinion, didn't make her appear more imposing as she was now shorter than she had been while seated. 'Are you implying that I am _not_ impartial?' she fairly screeched at her opponent.

'I don't need to,' Capsworth's voice was still pleasant, but Harry could sense a touch of something much less tolerant underneath. 'You just proved you lack of impartiality to all present,' she waved her hand at the court, 'by reacting as you did just now. If you were truly impartial, you would have had no objections to my performing the test, instead of demonstrating your fear that you would lose the chance to sabotage the test in order to inflict more punishment upon a young man whom you have already spent several months tormenting simply because you are afraid of anything like yourself – not pure-bred.'

Harry saw Ron's jaw drop.

'_Not pure-bred?'_ Umbridge's voice was starting to hurt Harry's ears. 'I'll have you know _both_ my parents were wizards and witches –'

'That's odd,' Capsworth interrupted her. 'I could have sworn one of them was a toad.'

Harry and Ron had to work very hard not to join in the laughter which filled the chamber. Only a few members of the Wizengamot weren't laughing, both Scrimgeour and Percy looked scandalised, and Umbridge was sputtering incoherently, she was so angry. Hermione looked slightly afraid, as if she felt their chances of a fair trial had just been destroyed, and Mrs Figg looked even battier than before.

Madam Capsworth's eyes twinkled down at Harry, Ron, Hermione and Mrs Figg as she reached into her robes and removed her own wand. Ignoring the ruckus surrounding her, she calmly placed the tip of her wand against Harry's. Harry saw her lips form the words _Priori Incantatum_ (the noise was too loud to hear her), and suddenly a great stream of smoky water gushed from the point where the wands touched. Scrimgeour raised his hands reflexively as the laughter suddenly stopped.

Capsworth continued to mutter _Priori Incantatum_. A series of red sparks shot from Harry's wand, followed by a loud bang which made most of the Wizengamot jump. Next, two muffled cries issued forth, then a loud thump as though something heavy had fallen. When two smoky brooms suddenly exploded forth from the wand, Madam Capsworth was sufficiently startled to break the connection.

Both Scrimgeour and Umbridge looked like they didn't know what to make of the evidence. Umbridge began to rummage through the scrolls in front of her. Madam Capsworth lazily flicked her wand in Umbridge's direction and a scroll zipped past Scrimgeour's nose to land in her hand.

'I believe this is the one you were looking for,' she commented as she unrolled the parchment. 'Yes, just as I thought – no record of any of those spells being performed in Surrey.'

'Then he must have performed them since he left Surrey,' blustered Scrimgeour, 'to trick us into believing he's innocent.'

Madam Capsworth looked along the bench at Percy. 'Why did you have Mr Potter's wand?'

Percy threw his out chest importantly. 'The Minister gave it to me for safe keeping the night Harry was arrested. He felt Harry wasn't to be trusted with a wand after what he had just done.'

Both Harry and Hermione grabbed Ron's arms to hold him back.

Capsworth's brow creased. 'And you have kept this wand upon you since then?'

'Yes.'

'Did you perform any spells with it whilst it was in your keeping?'

'Most certainly not!' Percy replied indignantly.

Capsworth turned towards Scrimgeour and Umbridge. 'So the last spells performed by this wand should be these.' She waved the scroll of parchment. 'Yet we have traced back several spells through Mr Potter's wand and there is no sign of them. I would say that would mean Mr Potter did not perform these spells. Wouldn't you agree?' she asked, with a bemused expression.

Umbridge was fit to burst. 'But those curses _were_ performed at Potter's house. We have witnesses to prove it. Bring them in!' she almost screamed at Percy, who immediately jumped up and raced over to the door in the corner leading to the room where Harry and the others had stayed the night they were arrested.

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances – _what_ witnesses?

But before they could panic any further, Harry heard a familiar voice abusing Percy.

'Get your filthy hands off me, you freak!' shouted Vernon Dursley. There was something wrong with his voice though; it was slightly slurred, almost like he was trying to talk underwater or with a full mouth.

Looking across to the corner, Harry saw a very large blob squeeze through the door, hindered slightly by its enormous bulk, followed quickly by a tall, thin woman who was pushing Dudley back whilst looking over her shoulder towards Percy. Aunt Petunia was trying to reassure Dudley.

'Don't panic Diddums, Daddy won't let the nasty freaks hurt you –' She stopped as she caught sight of the rows of witches and wizards peering down at them; all of whom seemed less than pleased to be referred to as 'freaks'.

There was a loud bang, and Uncle Vernon hurried into the room, followed closely by Percy, who was rubbing a crisp white handkerchief against a cut on his cheek.

Scrimgeour's eyes widened at this sight. 'What did you do to my Junior Secretary, Mr Dursley?'

Uncle Vernon spun around, looking for the person who had addressed him, and spotted Harry.

'_YOU!'_ he roared, spraying a mouthful of foam over Aunt Petunia. Both Uncle Vernon and Dudley advanced on Harry.

'Stop!' shouted Hermione, pointing her wand at them. This stopped the Dursleys as suddenly as a brick wall. Dudley gave a brief yelp and scurried back to his mother; Vernon's piggy little eyes were fixed on the wand as if it was a deadly snake.

Harry stared at the Dursleys, astonished. He had known what Hermione had done, but seeing it somehow made it even funnier. Uncle Vernon was sputtering pink frothy foam every time he tried to speak and Aunt Petunia looked distinctly frazzled in a very dirty apron, a dark streak across her nose. Dudley was the best sight of all. Smoke was puffing from his ears, his skin was hanging a little off his very bruised arms, he winced every time he moved, as though his muscles were very sore, and when he opened his mouth to say something to Harry, large coloured bubbles issued forth. As each of them popped, Dudley's voice filled the room saying such things as 'Harry Potter is the greatest wizard I have ever known' and 'I really love my cousin, Harry Potter'.

Ron was holding on to the chained chair for support, he was laughing so hard. Hermione merely regarded all three Dursleys with a very smug expression.

'My, my, we have been naughty, haven't we?' she said.

Her words drew the attention of both Umbridge and Capsworth. Scrimgeour was staring at Uncle Vernon, still waiting for a reply to his question about Percy.

Umbridge's slack lips widened. 'Let the record show Miss Granger just admitted to the guilt of all of the offenders.'

Hermione's attention was snatched abruptly away from the Dursleys. 'How did I just admit any guilt?' she asked in an indignant tone.

'You just said "We have been naughty".'

Hermione's jaw dropped. 'What? I was talking about them!' She pointed to the Dursleys. 'The only way they could look like that is if they haven't been behaving properly, so yes, they've been naughty.'

Scrimgeour had given up on Uncle Vernon and was now focusing on Hermione. 'And what do you know about the victims' present condition?'

Harry and Ron exchanged panicked looks. Hermione was about to get herself into a lot of trouble. They tried to grab hold of her but she shook them off, stepping forwards to remain out of their reach.

Hermione stared defiantly up at Scrimgeour and Umbridge. 'I know everything about the Dursleys' condition because _I_ performed those spells.'

The silence which greeted this admission rang for a full minute before Umbridge's smug voice broke it. 'Oh ho! So little Miss I-disagree-with-the-documented-opinions-of-Ministry-approved-authors is still defying her betters. Or were you practising _defensive_ spells?' She leered down at Hermione with a sickening grin.

Before Hermione could answer, however, Uncle Vernon and Dudley launched themselves across the room and flattened both Hermione and Harry, who had realised in the second that they were airborne just what they were going to do, and tried to push Hermione out of the way. There was a tangle of hair and fists, though none of Dudley's blows hurt at all, and Harry had trouble breathing (both from Uncle Vernon's weight and a faceful of foam); then there were three loud bangs and something wooden snapped. The Dursleys were suddenly standing very erect, hands by their sides, piggy eyes darting around in panic, and Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves floating in midair, arms and legs splayed out as if they were doing star jumps.

Scrimgeour was standing, his face almost as purple as Uncle Vernon's, pointing his wand at the three of them.

'I will NOT tolerate such unseemly behaviour in my court. And as for _you!_' He rounded on Uncle Vernon (Aunt Petunia gave a muffled cry). 'You were brought here to help this court convict these offenders, not to attack them. Here I am trying to mend Wizard-Muggle relations, and you, sir, are not helping one bit.'

Uncle Vernon tried to say something, but it was lost in yet another mouthful of foam.

Scrimgeour glanced around at the court at large. 'Can't we do something about that foam?'

'Hem, hem,' Umbridge's stupid cough sounded very out of place. Harry felt a sense of foreboding. 'We haven't as yet been able to find a counter-jinx. You'll need to ask Miss I-think-I'm-so-much-cleverer-than-the-Minister how to reverse the effects of her curses. She'll only be able to tell you, though; since she has admitted to breaking several Wizarding laws, she is no longer permitted to own a wand.' And she held up two short pieces of timber, something shiny glittering as it poked out one of the broken ends.

Hermione gasped and twisted slightly, as if she wanted to check her pockets, but couldn't reach them because of the way she was spread-eagled.

Madam Capsworth was regarding Umbridge with a curious expression. 'Is there something personal going on here which the rest of us don't know about, Dolores? Because that would be most improper,' she said as Umbridge dragged her smug look away from Hermione. 'After all, it clearly states in the _Charter of Wizarding Rights_ that witches and wizards who have a personal history with accused appearing before the Wizengamot are not permitted to sit in judgement at their hearings. Isn't that so, Minister?' She cast an amused eye at Scrimgeour, who did not look happy to be dragged into the debate.

He huffed and muttered something indistinguishable.

Capsworth waved her wand and a large, dusty book landed with a very loud thump on the bench before her. Its pages turned as if in a breeze until …

'Yes, here it is: section 832, subsection 312, paragraph 26. _"In order to avoid a mistrial and the risk of release of dangerous witches and/or wizards who are known to pose a serious threat to the safety of the wizarding community at large, such dangerous witches and/or wizards are to be tried before only those Wizengamot members who have no previous personal history with the aforementioned dangerous witches and/or wizards._

"_Wizengamot members who have a previous personal history with dangerous witches and/or wizards appearing before the Wizengamot, are those who have a blood or familial relationship with said dangerous witches and/or wizards; who have employed or been in the employ of said dangerous witches and/or wizards; who have had business or financial dealings with said dangerous witches and/or wizards; or who have had said dangerous witches and/or wizards engage them in dispute, either physical, verbal or written, other than matters before the Wizengamot._

"_With respect to this last, said dangerous witches and/or wizards have the right to present the facts surrounding any such dispute to the full Wizengamot, and also have the right to request that the Wizengamot decides if compromised Wizengamot members should remain sitting in judgement of any matters, current or future, brought before the Wizengamot concerning said dangerous witches and/or wizards."_'

Umbridge had something akin to fear in her bulging eyes.

As Harry, Ron and Hermione drifted slowly to the floor, Hermione's eyes flashed triumphantly. Ron looked extremely confused.

Madam Capsworth glanced down at Harry and Hermione. 'Do you wish to exercise your right under section 832, subsection –?'

'_Yes!'_ Harry and Hermione both shouted immediately.

Scrimgeour finally recovered. 'You are Undersecretary to the Minister, Capsworth; you're supposed to be supporting _me_, no helping law breakers to get away with murder.'

Madam Capsworth blinked, donned a false surprised look, and made a show of consulting her notes. 'I don't see any charges here relating to murder, Minister. Are you certain you're not confusing this hearing with a previous one; for example, the trial which convicted Sirius Black?'

'What trial?' asked Scrimgeour before he could stop himself.

Capsworth's expression darkened. 'Exactly.'

Scrimgeour looked highly affronted. 'But the fact still remains – you are supposed to be supporting _me_!' he snapped, seemingly unaware that every one of the Wizengamot members who had arrived with Madam Capsworth were regarding him with utter distaste.

'I was under the impression that I held this position on the Wizengamot as a separate voice of authority, not an echo of any other members, or do I need to read you the laws governing my position.' The largest book Harry had ever seen landed on top of the _Wizarding Charter of Rights_ with a bang, and the front bench tilted alarmingly under its weight. Umbridge slid into Scrimgeour's back, making him grab the front of the next row to stop them from falling, as he muttered something which sounded like, 'That won't be necessary.'

Harry could only just see Madam Capsworth's eyes over the top of the tome, but he could have sworn they were twinkling.

As she sent the gigantic book sliding along the bench to Percy (who had great difficulty lowering it to the floor), she regarded Harry and Hermione again.

'Now, you wished to exercise your rights to a trial devoid of any members with whom you have a history-'

'_No!'_ Umbridge screamed, clutching at Scrimgeour's arm. 'Sack her, Rufus, you have every right to, she's not doing what you want and that's what her job is about. If she's not Undersecretary, she can't sit in my, I mean, _that_ chair.'

Capsworth frowned at her. 'You know, for someone who's supposed to be Head of Magical Law Enforcement, you don't seem to know the law very well. Once appointed to a level Gamma position, I can only be removed by either dying, resigning, or being voted out by a secret ballot of all other Gamma members.'

'Ha!' Umbridge was physically shaking Scrimgeour now. 'Do it, Rufus; you know you can find a much better candidate than her.' (Percy sat even straighter.)

Scrimgeour tried to shake Umbridge off as he regarded Capsworth. Then he pulled out his wand and stabbed it into the air. Several tiny gold spots sparkled in the air like a silent firework had gone off, then vanished one by one. Scrimgeour leant upon the bench, staring expectantly at the air where the sparks had been.

Harry moved closer to Ron and Hermione. 'What's a Gamma member?' he whispered.

'Heads of Department,' replied Ron.

'So what did Scrimgeour just do?'

'Sent off requests for the vote to oust Capsworth, I'm guessing,' said Hermione. Ron nodded beside her.

Harry glanced at the front bench. 'If she gets fired, I bet Percy wouldn't mind a promotion.'

'The git!' muttered Ron, glowering at his brother, but their discussion was halted by the appearance of several coloured glittering dots which flashed around the courtroom until they came to rest, hovering before the front bench, and forming the words _She stays_.

Percy looked disappointed, but Umbridge still hadn't given up hope.

'Sack her from the Wizengamot, go on; Cornelius got rid of Dumbledore –'

'Why, thank you; that's the highest compliment anyone has ever paid me,' Capsworth smiled charmingly at Umbridge's confused face, 'saying I'm in the same class as Albus Dumbledore.' (Harry snorted, and tried to cover it with a sneeze.) 'But Cornelius Fudge didn't remove Albus Dumbledore from the Wizengamot, he was voted out. So, shall we have a show of hands?' And again, she addressed Scrimgeour.

'What?' Scrimgeour extracted himself from Umbridge's grip and glanced around the courtroom as if counting heads. He didn't sound very confident as he muttered to the space beyond Capsworth, 'Oh, very well,' but Umbridge was grinning wickedly again as Scrimgeour addressed the Wizengamot.

'All those in favour of Patricia Clara Capsworth being demoted from the Wizengamot, please raise your hands.'

Predictably every person who had been present before Ron and Hermione arrived, with the exception of Percy, voted against Capsworth.

'… eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.' Madam Capsworth glanced at Percy, who was glaring at the members who hadn't voted yet, his lips pressed very thin. 'Make a record of that please, Mr Weasley.'

Percy started, then hurriedly scratched down the number.

Scrimgeour did his best not to make eye contact with anybody as he almost muttered, 'And those in favour of her remaining on the bench.'

Harry's eyes scanned the room, trying to count the mass of hands pointing towards the high ceiling; they certainly outnumbered Scrimgeour's mates, but by how much?

'Thirty-four, Mr Weasley,' Madam Capsworth smiled across at Percy.

'That won't be necessary…' Scrimgeour started to say, but once again, Madam Capsworth's pleasant voice cut in.

'Oh, but it _is_ necessary, Minister; after all, you wouldn't want our visitors –' (she indicated the Dursleys) 'to leave here with the mistaken belief that we do not know how to manage our affairs – whether judicial, political or social – properly, reasonably, fairly, and following correct procedure, would you?'

Scrimgeour jumped as if he had been burned; he had apparently forgotten about the Dursleys. All three of them were huddled together, Uncle Vernon and Dudley still as stiff as statues, all three pairs of eyes darting from side to side, terrified of what might next be inflicted upon them. They seemed to have forgotten that they were boiling mad at Harry, but Harry knew that wouldn't last.

'Well,' continued Madam Capsworth, 'now that the issue of my position has been dealt with, let us proceed to the next step of ensuring Mr Potter and his friends are properly and legally tried for the crimes they have been charged with.'

Harry noticed Ron swallow. He guessed Ron was probably wishing that their trial would be forgotten, with the argument between Scrimgeour, Umbridge and Capsworth distracting everyone, but Harry knew it wouldn't be that easy. However, he wasn't as nervous as he had been. Hermione had forced the Wizengamot to realise that his wand, at least, had not been responsible for the Dursleys' conditions, Scrimgeour's allies no longer held the majority, and Harry felt that, somehow, there had been a shift of command with the vote in favour of Madam Capsworth. If she was correct about those clauses, neither Scrimgeour nor Umbridge could remain here to pass sentence upon them.

'You can't kick us out of here,' Umbridge screamed. 'Not if you don't want a mistrial. Both the Minister and Head of Magical Law Enforcement must be present, or –'

'Nobody intends to stop you being present,' Madam Capsworth's voice was pleasant once more. 'But whether or not you get to have any influence over these proceedings is yet to be determined, and if Miss Granger is able to enlighten us at all, I personally would _love_ to hear it.'

'So would I,' muttered Scrimgeour beside her. Umbridge threw him a very dirty look.

'But first,' Capsworth continued, 'let's everybody get more comfortable.' She flicked her wand. A long desk, perfect for resting elbows on, appeared in front of Harry, Ron and Hermione. Behind them stood three top-grade leather office chairs. As Harry pulled his up to the desk and sat down, he noticed Mrs Figg glance nervously up at the Wizengamot before settling herself into a very comfy-looking armchair, reminiscent of the ones Dumbledore had conjured at Harry's trial two years ago.

To the other side, a very long sofa had appeared, with ample space to accommodate both Uncle Vernon and Dudley's extremely wide backsides, and still seat Aunt Petunia comfortably. All three Dursleys were eyeing it with a mixture of fear, revulsion and longing.

Madam Capsworth addressed them. 'It doesn't bite, you know, you are most welcome to sit down. After all, I'm certain your muscles,' (she looked pointedly at Uncle Vernon and Dudley) 'are getting rather stiff. However, the sofa will exist only as long as you behave yourselves. If any of you once again tries to abuse or attack any person present here, the sofa will vanish and all three of you will be confined to _that_.' She pointed to the chained chair. 'And I assure you, that chair _does_ bite.'

Uncle Vernon's piggy eyes darted from the chained chair to the sofa and back, a pained expression in them. Harry knew he would never willingly sit on anything which was connected to magic but, as Madam Capsworth had pointed out, they were probably getting _very_ stiff.

Aunt Petunia tentatively reached out to pat Uncle Vernon's shoulder. 'It would probably be best if we accept their hospitality, Vernon; after all, it's only until the trial is over. Then we can go home, and never be bothered by them again. You can both show them that _normal_ people do know how to behave properly … and the sofa does look comfortable.' She glanced at the chained chair, then whispered, _'Please, Vernon?' _so softly Harry saw, rather than heard, what she said.

Looking up at Madam Capsworth, Aunt Petunia nodded slightly. Instantly, both Uncle Vernon and Dudley slumped against each other. Dudley opened his mouth, but his father quickly covered it with his large hand.

'Your mother is right, Dudders,' he said, foam-free for the first time that day. 'You know how to act like a _gentleman_. Look at this as a chance to teach them –' (he jerked his head towards the judge's balcony), 'how _proper people behave._' And he grinned painfully at his son as Aunt Petunia nodded encouragingly.

Dudley still looked like he would rather take Harry apart in the most gruesome way possible, but both his parents gripped his arms and forcefully steered him over to the sofa, and didn't release hold even after all three of them were seated.

Madam Capsworth's clear voice rang through the courtroom. 'Pre-hearing of the thirty-first of July, into pre-existing associations under the Charter of Wizarding Rights, between Rufus Felix Scrimgeour, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Harry James Potter, and Hermione Kathleen Granger.'

She gazed down at Hermione. 'I think we'll hear from Miss Granger first. Could you please explain to this Court why Dolores Umbridge doesn't seem to like you very much?'

Hermione glanced from Umbridge back to Madam Capsworth, then explained about Umbridge's attempts to stop them learning Defence properly when she was at Hogwarts, from refusing to let them do anything except read _Defensive Magical Theory_ to her abuse of Harry to getting Fudge to introduce the Education Decrees, giving her steadily more power and paving the way for Fudge to take control of Hogwarts.

'Why would Cornelius want to take over at Hogwarts?' asked Scrimgeour.

'It all basically came down to his love of power,' Hermione explained. 'When Fudge first became Minister, he wasn't really experienced or trained enough for the job, because it was actually Mr Crouch who had been groomed to take over from Millicent Bagnold, so Fudge was always running to Professor Dumbledore for help. But over time, he became more comfortable with his new power, and managed to convince himself that _he_ was the one who was coming up with the good ideas and stuff, and started to do everything he could to hold onto his office.'

'Helped immensely by Lucius Malfoy,' Harry added.

Capsworth leant forwards a little more. 'How so?'

'Gold!' Hermione, Harry and Ron all replied, together.

'Cornelius Fudge was accepting bribes from a Death Eater?'

'We're not entirely certain that he ever really believed Mr Malfoy _was_ a real Death Eater,' said Hermione. 'After all, Malfoy had been let off because he managed to convince the Ministry that he had been under the Imperius Curse, then, to stop Fudge listening to Dumbledore, he threw heaps of gold at him.

'And Fudge became very accustomed to the luxury. Just compare his office to what it was like before he became Minister.'

Several Wizengamot members began nodding and muttering amongst themselves. Umbridge glared at them, clearly not happy to see any of them agreeing with what Hermione said.

Rufus Scrimgeour straightened up a little. 'I think our Accounts department would have noticed if luxury items were appearing with no accompanying bills. Books do need to balance, you know.' He looked rather pleased with himself for noticing this.

'The books _would_ have balanced. If you examine them closely, I wouldn't mind betting it's all under _Donations to Charities Overseen by the Minister_ or something to that effect,' countered Hermione.

Scrimgeour was shaking his head, his thick mane almost hiding his face. 'I would definitely have been informed if there were any charities I was supposed to be presiding over.'

'Then perhaps you need to check with Accounts to find out how Lucius Malfoy's money _was_ explained.' Mrs Figg spoke up for the first time since she arrived.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all turned to look across at her; Harry was surprised to see a slight gleam in her eye.

'Why do I get the feeling you know something the rest of us don't?' Hermione muttered across at her.

'Why don't you ask who's in charge of the Accounts department?' Mrs Figg muttered back out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on Umbridge.

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron, who shrugged. 'I don't thing Dad's ever had anything to do with anybody from Accounts,' he said, glancing over at Percy, who was frowning at the four of them.

Hermione looked slightly uncertain as she returned her gaze to the balcony. 'Er … Madam Capsworth … who's in charge of Accounts?'

'I think the question you meant to ask, Miss Granger,' said Madam Capsworth, 'was not who _is_ in charge of Accounts, but who _was_ in charge of Accounts when Fudge was in office.'

There was no mistaking it this time – Umbridge _definitely _had a look of fear in her eyes. Harry's curiosity increased.

'And the answer to that question,' Capsworth continued, 'is Markus Yaxley.'

_Yaxley_? Harry's jaw dropped. 'You're joking!'

Madam Capsworth shook her head sadly.

Harry stared, stunned, at Scrimgeour, who was doing an excellent job avoiding his gaze. 'You knew, didn't you,' he growled softly. 'You knew Fudge had a Death Eater managing the Ministry's money and you've never investigated what he got up to, have you?'

'Nobody knew he was a Death Eater,' said Scrimgeour gruffly.

'Oh, come on,' said Harry disgustedly. 'You were Head of the Auror Office; you had to have at least suspected.'

'We are not here to discuss the running of the Ministry, especially not with three teenagers. The matter under investigation is your actions of July –'

'You will find, if you examine your memory a little closer, Minister,' Madam Capsworth's pleasant voice once again cut Scrimgeour off, 'that this is the _pre_-hearing before this Court turns its attentions to any July actions, and we are trying to determine whether both yourself and Dolores Umbridge will be _permitted_ to pass any judgement on said July actions.

'Now, to return to the matter at hand.' She glanced at Hermione. 'Why was Fudge trying to take over at Hogwarts?'

'It wasn't so much him wanting to take over at Hogwarts, as trying to stop Dumbledore from taking over here. He seemed to think Dumbledore was teaching us to be an army he could use against Fudge, so he changed the law so Umbridge could get the Defence job and stop us from learning how to defend ourselves.'

Madam Capsworth looked slightly confused. 'Even though the Dark side was rising again?'

'Especially because of that,' stated Ron, earning another glare from his brother as Harry nodded. 'Fudge worked really hard to stop everybody learning the truth about …' His voice petered off.

'_Voldemort!'_ both Harry and Hermione replied forcefully, to another wave of shudders.

'Yeah … him …' muttered Ron as his ears turned red.

Harry picked up the thread.

'Fudge leaned really hard on the _Prophet_ not to print anything about Voldemort's return, and make me and Dumbledore look like loonies. Even after the night Sirius died, and the Ministry had no choice but to believe the truth, Fudge never apologised – not to me at any rate. He had given Umbridge free license to abuse me, after she had tried to get me sent to Azkaban for stopping her Dementors from attacking me and my cousin,' (Aunt Petunia gasped over on the sofa) 'and he not only never said sorry, but he then wanted me to tell everybody what a great job he was doing when he was about to be kicked out of office.'

Harry glared up at the Minister. 'And Scrimgeour has been trying, ever since _he_ became Minister, to get me to endorse what he's doing, too.

'And now he's abusing his position; instead of ensuring the Ministry is being run efficiently and doing everything possible to protect the law-abiding wizarding community, round up and properly punish _real_ Death Eaters, and catch Voldemort, he's channelling resources into having me watched to try to find out what I might be up to.'

Scrimgeour looked affronted. 'The Ministry doesn't have anyone watching you –'

'That's not what Percy said!' Both Ron and Hermione's voices joined Harry's. Harry felt a perverse pleasure seeing Percy try to disappear into his notes beneath Scrimgeour's withering glare.

'The only time you lot seem to tell the truth is when you accidentally let something slip.' Harry was almost shouting now. 'Remember what you said last Christmas – that I should feel it was my duty to be _used_? Well, if being used means I'm not going to be able to properly get on with things, just so you lot can look like you _are_ doing what needs to be down, even when you're not, then you had better get used to the idea that Voldemort will always be around.'

'We _are_ doing what has to be done.' Scrimgeour was on his feet. 'You have no idea how difficult it is going up against the Dark side. I was Head of the Auror office; I know how tough a fight it is, and how exhilarating it feels, even if only for a brief time, when you finally manage to catch one of those –'

'Even when _one of those_ turns out not to be a Death Eater? You still haven't released Stan Shunpike yet, have you?' Harry's heart pounded loudly in his chest.

'YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE!' Scrimgeour fairly shouted as he jabbed a finger at Harry. 'GOING UP AGAINST THE DARK SIDE. THE DEATH EATERS ARE BAD ENOUGH, AND AS FOR HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED –'

'I've faced Voldemort himself five times, so I would say I _do_ have an idea what it's like.' Harry spoke quietly, but his voice rang clearly through the silence which followed Scrimgeour's outburst.

Capsworth was sitting as straight as a Sensory Sensor. 'What did you mean before by _"her Dementors"_?' Her voice was slightly horrified.

'Umbridge told me that she had ordered those Dementors to Little Whingeing to take care of me; that everybody was bleating about how I needed to be silenced, but she was the only one who actually _did_ something about it.'

Scrimgeour started to puff up importantly, but Capsworth held up a hand to stop him.

'Was she trying to destroy your soul, or get you convicted by the Wizengamot for using magic in a Muggle area?'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know; either would have achieved her goal.'

'And that would have been the end of Harry Potter. Just as Voldemort returned.' Capsworth slumped back against her seat, her expression unreadable.

For more than a minute, stunned silence followed this pronouncement.

Finally, Madam Capsworth visibly pulled herself together and addressed the chamber.

'I think we have heard sufficient testimony to determine whether or not either the Minister or the Head of Magical Law Enforcement should be permitted to sit in judgement at any trials concerning Harry James Potter or Hermione Kathleen Granger.

'Those who believe there is too much personal animosity between the accused and Minister Scrimgeour and Madam Umbridge to permit a fair trial of the accused, please raise your hands.'

Ron's jaw dropped when most of the Wizengamot, even several of Scrimgeour's mates, voted in favour of Harry and Hermione.

'And those who believe the Minister and Madam Umbridge are capable of passing honest and unprejudiced judgements at any matters concerning the accused, please raise your hands.'

It was very easy to count the vote this time. Only seven hands were pointing towards the high ceiling, including both Scrimgeour and Umbridge's. Harry found this a little surprising; he would have thought, since the vote was about them, that they would be excluded from the result. Hermione opened her mouth, probably to voice just such a concern, but Capsworth silenced her with a slight shake of her head, her expression saying that it didn't matter to the outcome.

She gazed over at Percy, whose expression was as stunned as both Scrimgeour and Umbridge's. 'Kindly record the result, Mr Weasley.' Percy glanced at Scrimgeour, who gave the briefest of nods, signalling for Percy to start scribbling, his hand shaking noticeably.

Once the scratching of Percy's quill stopped echoing through the courtroom, Madam Capsworth straightened the sheets of parchment in front of her. 'Right,' she said. 'Now we can get down to business.' She looked down at them.

'Hearing of the thirty-first of July, before the Committee of Magical Law, into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction and so forth and so forth. Part _Two_.'

He eyes twinkled as they gazed at Hermione. 'Miss Granger, you earlier gave testimony that you were the person responsible for the spells performed in Surrey two weeks ago, correct?'

'Yes.' Hermione returned her gaze unflinchingly.

'And what was your reason?'

'Revenge, of course!' Uncle Vernon sprayed foam again. 'That boy put her up to it, to pay us back for how we've treated him over the years.'

'And how _have_ you treated Mr Potter over the years?' Madam Capsworth was now looking at Uncle Vernon with open interest.

'Er … well …' Uncle Vernon turned a sickly grey as he tried to pull his foot out of his mouth. 'We've given him a bed to sleep in, food in his stomach, clothes on his back, let him go to that school of his, and all without any thanks or financial reward. Most people wouldn't have done it; they'd have sent him straight to an orphanage. They wouldn't have put up with owls coming and going, flying cars, Marge on the ceiling, floating puddings or having their living room blown up. That boy has certainly been treated a lot better by us than he would have been anywhere else.'

Capsworth glanced back at Harry. 'Is that true?'

'Sort of.' Harry refused to look at the Dursleys. 'They did give me a bed – in the cupboard under the stairs, and food, but only the bare essentials; and clothes – after Dudley had grown too fat for them. And they let me go to Hogwarts only because they were too scared of Hagrid to stop me.'

'And what were these incidents Mr Dursley spoke of … you didn't blow up their living room, surely?'

'Oh, no.' Harry grinned. 'That was Mr Weasley.'

Scrimgeour blinked. 'Arthur?' Harry and Ron nodded.

Harry explained about the incident three years before. 'Mr Weasley was going to repair everything and clean up the room after we'd left but Uncle Vernon's manners weren't very friendly.'

'I'll have you know I have _excellent_ manners,' Uncle Vernon sprayed. 'It's your lot who need lessons in manners –' He quailed under the Wizengamot's frosty expressions.

'That's why you keep spraying foam everywhere,' said Hermione.

Capsworth turned to her. 'Yes, these curses. Were they for revenge?'

'No.'

'_Rubbish!_'

'Mr Dursley, kindly sit down and be quiet or you will be _forced_ to remain silent.' Capsworth's voice was still pleasant but her eyes shot sparks.

'So it was Muggle-baiting?' asked Scrimgeour.

'No.' Hermione blinked innocently up at the judge's balcony. 'I didn't curse them. I performed _charms_ upon them, to encourage them to improve both themselves and their lives. To make them better people.'

'How so?' Capsworth was resting her chin in her hand.

Hermione explained about the Dursleys' less than perfect behaviour.

'So, to fix them, Mr Dursley will have to keep his temper under control or he'll get his mouth washed out with soap until he does say something nice. He'll also have to let his possessions wear out before he replaces them or both the old and new items will immediately break beyond repair and the cost of both taken from his bank account, converted to Galleons and donated to the Closed Ward at St Mungo's.'

Uncle Vernon looked like he wanted to blow up again but one nervous glance in Capsworth's direction had him trying to hunch down beside Dudley. Harry suppressed a grin as he imagined that, despite Uncle Vernon's abhorrence of all things magical, he was probably wishing he could turn invisible.

'Next, Mrs Dursley's behaviour, which resembles what Muggle psychologists call Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder,' (Aunt Petunia whimpered at the thought people might think her, in any way, _mental_.) 'can be reversed by cleaning the house once a day only. But once everything is clean – _leave it alone_. Otherwise, everything will just keep getting dirtier and dirtier until twenty-four hours after she stops.

'And, finally, we come to Dudley. This one was a really tough charm because he has so many faults and vices which need correcting.'

Ron sniggered.

'The amount of strain his obesity must be placing on his heart, he'll be lucky if he's not dead of a heart attack soon. So to improve his health, and therefore his chance of a longer life, he needs to improve his diet. Fresh fruits and vegetables, low-fat dairy products and high-fibre breads and cereals. Anything else, especially junk food, and he'll throw up for twenty-four hours. The same if he drinks alcohol. A single glass of red wine with dinner is permissible (once he turns eighteen), but binge drinking with his mates on a regular basis stops now.'

'Dudders doesn't drink with his mates!' Aunt Petunia jumped up.

'He's been doing it since he was fifteen,' Harry informed her. 'I really wish Muggles could use a Pensieve. I'd love to show you his memories of it.'

'But they can.'

'What?' Harry and Hermione both gaped up at Madam Capsworth.

'Muggles can use a Pensieve. They need someone to guide them every step of the way, but they can do it.' She quickly scribbled something on a scrap of parchment and passed it to Percy who, after a nod from Scrimgeour, quietly disappeared into the ante-chamber.

'So why the bubbles and smoke?' Capsworth prompted Hermione to continue her testimony.

Hermione dragged her gaze from the door Percy just disappeared through. 'The bubbles are to clean up his _very_ foul mouth; basically, they reverse Dudley's sentiments. And the smoke shows that he has been smoking in the last twenty-four hours.'

Aunt Petunia looked like she was going to object again but a glance at Harry's face had her shrinking back into the sofa, uncertainty on her face.

'Any other improvements?' asked Madam Capsworth.

'Yes,' Hermione answered. 'If he tries to beat up on someone except in self-defence, especially someone half his age and size, _he_ is the one who'll feel his punches and get the bruises.' She pointed to the fresh bruises which had blossomed over Dudley's arms since his attack on Harry and herself earlier.

'So is he allowed to do _any _physical exercise?'

'Oh, yes,' said Hermione cheerfully. Dudley winced. 'There's not much point eating healthily to lose weight if you don't tone the flab as well so, yes, he's allowed to get physical. Even boxing is OK, so long as it's only a punchball, and only as part of an exercise program full of variety. Not too much to begin with – his body won't be able to handle it – but nor is he allowed to do too little. If he does, he'll ache all over until he does start exercising. His body will let him know what it can manage. But _no more couch potato_. And, over time, he will become a healthy, trim, well-mannered young man whom his parents can truly and properly be proud of.'

Madam Capsworth gazed down at Hermione, a thoughtful expression on her face. 'Those would have to be the most unusual curses I've ever heard of. You're not actually inflicting any harm upon your victims, quite the opposite, in fact. You're trying to help them.'

'NOT INFLICTIN ANY HARM UPON US?' Uncle Vernon scooped up a handful of foam. 'What do you call this?'

'Incentive.' Hermione regarded him with a mixture of amusement and disappointment.

'And what's the counter-curse?' asked Scrimgeour.

'There isn't one.' (Umbridge blinked.) 'No witch or wizard can undo those spells. The only people who have the power to stop all of that –' she waved a hand in the Dursleys' direction, '– are the Dursleys themselves. If they live proper lives as decent people, they'll have no problems. But if they lapse at all, they'll be reminded that that sort of behaviour is not on.'

'And what about your Statute of Secrecy thingy?' Uncle Vernon glared at Hermione. 'You lot won't want people who are normal like us to find out about you,' he said, looking anything but normal with his lap full of pink foam and puffs of Dudley's smoke drifting across his face. 'If you keep us looking like this, it'll cause a lot of trouble for your lot.'

'And what about the trouble it will cause you?' asked Harry. 'If Muggles find out about the wizarding world because of your behaviour, they'll also discover the truth about your family – that both your wife and son are directly related to two of the most famous witches and wizards this century: me and my mum.'

'There's nothing wrong with our behaviour!' Uncle Vernon bellowed around yet another mouthful of foam but, despite their present reluctance to abide by Hermione's new rules, Harry felt certain that, with time and practice, they would behave properly all the time. And they would hate every second of it. He hid a secret grin. Revenge was indeed sweetest when served up cold.

'We shall see, shan't we, Mr Dursley.' Madam Capsworth looked like she was thoroughly enjoying the show.

Umbridge was still glaring down at them. 'So what were the spells which Potter _did_ perform with that wand? There were several curses amongst that lot. So who were you cursing?' The bulging eyes turned to Harry.

'They were self-defence,' Harry raised a hand to stop Hermione stopping him from answering. As much as he didn't think it was any of the Ministry's business, he knew the matter wouldn't be dropped until they were satisfied they had all the answers. So, he decided to give them some. 'I performed them the night Dumbledore died, when I chased Snape and the other Death Eaters from the Astronomy Tower.'

'And what was with the water?' Scrimgeour frowned.

'I helped Hagrid put his hut out after one of the Death Eaters set fire to it.'

Umbridge sat up straighter. 'That half-breed cast a spell even though he's not allowed to perform magic?'

'No,' Harry tried to make his voice sound as cold as possible. '_I_ did _Aguamenti_, Hagrid used the rain barrels outside his hut.'

Umbridge still wasn't giving up.

'And what were you doing on top of the Astronomy Tower?'

'Dumbledore and I went to investigate why the Dark Mark was there.'

'But Dumbledore had previously been seen entering the Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade.'

Harry could feel Ron and Hermione watching him nervously. 'Yes.'

'Why?'

Harry glared up at Umbridge, hoping she would be fooled by the act. 'Fine! Dumbledore wanted to tell me about the Prophecy which was smashed the night Death Eaters managed to break into this place.'

That had everybody staring at him, stunned.

'You were with him?'

'Yes.'

'And he felt that you would be less likely to be overheard in a pub than at the school?' Umbridge clearly didn't think that was very clever of Dumbledore.'

'He didn't tell me in the Hog's Head,' Harry growled. 'We Apparated to the middle of a hurricane in the Pacific. That's why he was so weak when we got back. That storm was rough.'

'You Apparated, even though you hadn't passed your test at that point?' Scrimgeour looked like Fudge had the night he found out about Dumbledore's Army.

'Of course not!' said Harry, scandalised. 'Dumbledore took me, Side-Along.'

'And what were the details of the Prophecy?' Umbridge was starting to look like the cat had gotten a new serve of cream.

'Couldn't tell you,' said Harry. 'Dumbledore was Secret Keeper. I can't even tell Ron and Hermione.'

Both his friends played their parts well. 'Don't think we haven't tried to get it out of him,' said Ron as Hermione donned a very frustrated look.

Umbridge looked like she wanted to ask more questions but she broke off as Percy returned carrying a Pensieve which he placed on the desk in front of Harry, Ron and Hermione, astutely avoiding eye contact with any of them.

Madam Capsworth made her way down from the balcony and held Harry's wand out to him, her eyes twinkling.

'Do you know how to retrieve a memory?' she asked pleasantly.

'No,' Harry shook his head, 'but I've seen it done before.'

'Good, then you shouldn't have any trouble helping me.' She tightened her hold on her own wand. 'I'll remove the memories we shall examine, but I need you to guide me.'

'What memories do you want to check out?'

'Anything which you feel will back up what we've heard here today.'

Harry spent a few moments considering his choices. Since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be going into the Pensieve, it was the perfect chance for them to see, with their own eyes, what Dudley got up to behind their backs … the night he was attacked by those Dementors would be good … as well as random selections of drinking, smoking, bullying and vandalism.

The rest of the Wizengamot, including Scrimgeour and Umbridge, began to make their way down towards them. It looked like they would all be going into the Pensieve. Harry decided to also dredge up memories of the Dursleys' mistreatment of him over the years. Then, for good measure, he thought he would throw in Umbridge and the Dementors, Aunt Marge and Dobby, so everyone could see exactly what had brought about the Ministry's previous warnings.

Gripping his wand tightly, Harry glanced up at Madam Capsworth. 'I'm ready.'

'Good.' Her smile seemed so familiar. She flicked her wand towards the sofa. All three Dursleys (whimpering like babies) floated over to them. Madam Capsworth pressed her wand against Dudley's temple. Dudley tried to back away but couldn't.

'Press your wand against the same point.' Harry did as instructed.

'Now concentrate very hard on each memory, in turn.'

Harry tried to ignore the look of pure fascination lighting up Hermione's face as he focused on the memories which Dudley would be able to provide. Madam Capsworth pulled her wand away and several silvery strands stretched from Dudley's head until they broke off, dangling like a glittering tassel from the end of the wand. She shook them off into the Pensieve where they swirled formlessly.

Next, Madam Capsworth touched her wand to Harry's head and he brought his own up beside it. Concentrating hard, he watched with interest as several strands of memory were dragged from his head before also being added to the stone basin on the desk.

'After you.' Madam Capsworth grabbed both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's heads and, before they could do more than gasp, forced them headfirst into the Pensieve. As soon as their noses touched the surface of the basin's contents, they both disappeared.

'_Mummy!_' Dudley went to dive at them but pulled up suddenly, a forest of wands in his face.

Capsworth gave Harry a quick wink then bent down towards the swirling mass. The rest of the Wizengamot waited for Scrimgeour and Umbridge to dive into the Pensieve then, one by one, they also vanished into Harry's memories.

'What happens now?' Ron looked from Hermione to Harry.

'We wait,' said Harry, settling back into his chair.

'So, who's Madam Capsworth?' Hermione asked Ron.

He shrugged. 'Dunno, I've never heard Dad mention her. Whoever she is, I don't think Scrimgeour or Umbridge like her.' He grinned.

'Will you three keep it down?' hissed Mrs Figg.

'What? Scrimgeour and Umbridge can't hear us.' Ron protested.

'No,' replied Mrs Figg. 'But your brother can.'

Harry, Ron and Hermione all turned alarmed faces towards where Percy was sitting, busily writing. Had he just taken down what they said? Not wishing to give the Ministry more ammunition against them, they sank back into their chairs and clamped their mouths shut. They weren't game enough to even glance at each other. All they did was just sit there, staring silently at the desk, and waited.

And waited. Harry was starting to think he was maybe too heavy-handed with the material he had given Madam Capsworth when the Pensieve's contents splashed and, suddenly, countless numbers of people were landing in front of the desk, feet thumping slightly on the floor. The last to emerge from the Pensieve's depths was Madam Capsworth, dragging a very ruffled, very red-faced Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

None of them said anything as they returned to their places in the rows of seats above the defendants but most of them, even several of Scrimgeour's allies, were glaring angrily at both Umbridge and the Dursleys. Once everyone was settled again, Madam Capsworth looked down at Harry.

'Did they really put you through all of that your whole life?'

'Since I went to live with them when I was one, yeah,' Harry nodded.

All of the Wizengamot, with the exception of Scrimgeour, Umbridge and Percy, were looking down at him with a mixture of pity and awe. Harry wished they wouldn't.

'Very well then.' Capsworth glanced around at her fellow adjudicators. 'Those in favour of clearing the defendants of all charges?'

As far as Harry could see, only three hands weren't in the air, confirmed by Percy's count.

'And those in favour of a conviction?'

It hardly seemed worth the trouble but Harry supposed they should do things properly. He could feel Ron shaking beside him. Unlike earlier, when his tremors had been caused by fear and nervousness, he now looked like he was struggling not to burst out cheering.

Finalising the proceedings, Madam Capsworth spoke the four most beautiful words in the world.

'Cleared of all charges.'

Mrs Figg burst into tears.

'I told you they didn't have a case against us,' said Hermione, her smile almost splitting her face in two.

'If I live to be a hundred, I never want to go through that again,' said Ron, his voice shaking as much as the rest of him. Harry didn't blame him; he was feeling pretty shaky himself, probably from relief.

'So, what happens now?' Hermione glanced up at the Wizengamot who were starting to get to their feet.

'We get out of here,' Harry told her, 'before Umbridge gets down here. Come on, we can go to Mr Weasley's office, tell him what happened.'

'Don't you want your memories back?' Madam Capsworth had covered the distance from her balcony to their desk more quickly than Harry would have thought possible and was returning Dudley's memories to his head as he tried to pull away, whimpering.

'What?' said Harry, startled. 'Oh … yeah … I forgot about them.' He gazed at the Pensieve. 'Er … how?'

'Like this.' Capsworth gently grasped Harry's hand and guided his wand to the stone basin. The swirling contents suddenly sped up until they resembled a whirlpool which then started to twist its way up the wand. Pulling slightly, she stretched it from the Pensieve to Harry's temple where it dimmed like a light burning down until it faded into nothing, the memories once more inside Harry's head.

'Coming?' Madam Capsworth's eyes twinkled at them. 'I'm sure Arthur would like an update.' The four defendants stood.

Without any further ado, she gave her wand a flick, making the Pensieve, desk and all of the chairs disappear, including the Dursleys sofa; the three Dursleys landed hard on the floor.

'What the –?' Uncle Vernon sprayed foam everywhere. Hermione looked slightly scandalised that Madam Capsworth could be so rough.

'After what they did to Harry, it's the least of what they deserve,' Capsworth explained to them, sparks flashing in her pale blue eyes for a brief moment. Her lips tightened as she watched Percy gather the witnesses up and escort them across to the door they had come in through.

'What will happen to them?' Harry found he couldn't feel any pity for the dilemma his relatives had suddenly found themselves in.

'They'll be returned to Surrey where they can think long and hard about the lives they have carved out for themselves and the new ones they are now faced with. Hopefully, they'll learn the lesson Miss Granger has tried to teach them,' Madam Capsworth sighed. She turned to Mrs Figg. 'Are you right to return home, Arabella?'

'Oh, yes,' Mrs Figg nodded enthusiastically. 'I have a return ticket for the train. I only hope Mr Tibbles hasn't clawed my curtains to ribbons. He does fret so.'

'I'll call by this evening and put everything right, if you like. It will also give me a chance to check that Harry's family aren't making life difficult for you now that they know you're connected to our world.' Her eyes twinkled.

'I'll expect you at six then,' said Mrs Figg as she rummaged in her handbag. 'I'll make sure I've got some buns ready for tea.' Finally finding what she was looking for, she handed Harry a small parcel wrapped in flowery paper. 'Happy birthday.'

Before Harry could do anything more than gape at her, surprised, she turned and shuffled her way out of the courtroom, her slippers making no sound on the wooden floor.

'So, are you coming, or not?' Madam Capsworth raised an eyebrow at Harry, Ron and Hermione. Most of the Wizengamot had left.

'Er, sure.' Harry was still staring after Mrs Figg. What was that about? Did Madam Capsworth and Mrs Figg know each other?

Before he could think about this information any further or even open his present, he noticed Scrimgeour and Umbridge starting to make their way down from the judges' balcony. Thinking it would be prudent to get out of there before they reached floor level, Harry let his feet scurry after Ron and Hermione, leaving Courtroom Ten behind, hopefully for the last time.


	5. Chapter 5: Seventeen Candles

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER FIVE –**

**Seventeen Candles**

'How you always manage to wriggle out of trouble, I don't know.' Mrs Weasley looked like she didn't know whether she should be pleased or furious that they had managed to escape the Ministry yet again.

'There wasn't anything for Harry to wriggle out of, Mrs Weasley,' Hermione explained. 'He didn't do anything. I did, as I've been saying for the past two weeks.'

'So how come _you're_ not on your way to Azkaban?'

'Because I didn't curse Harry's family.'

'But …' Ron's mother glanced at her husband uncertainly.

'They were _charms_, Molly,' Mr Weasley grinned as he took a pinch of Floo powder out of the flowerpot above the fireplace. 'Very beneficial charms. So there's nothing the Wizengamot can do to Hermione either.'

'The Wizengamot?' Mrs Weasley gazed around the group, confused. 'I thought the hearing was supposed to be held in Dolores Umbridge's office? They didn't try to do the same thing as last time, surely.'

All four of them nodded at her. 'Scrimgeour pulled a Fudge,' said Harry.

Mrs Weasley's face darkened. 'Well, if the Minister thinks he'll ever get an invitation to dinner at this house, he's got another thing coming. I'm glad now that we couldn't fit him onto the wedding guest list.'

'Anyway, Molly, I need to get back.' Mr Weasley gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek. 'See you tonight. And you lot behave yourselves,' he added to Harry, Ron and Hermione as he stepped into the fireplace and was swept back to the Ministry in a burst of green flames.

Mrs Weasley went back to twirling her wand over a bowl full of cake mix for Harry's party. 'What's that you've got, dear?' she asked as she spotted the package in Harry's hand.

'A birthday present from Mrs Figg. That reminds me,' he suddenly jumped up, 'I haven't opened my other presents yet. Coming?' he yelled at Ron and Hermione as he hurried from the room.

'Watch where you're going? Oh!' Ginny exclaimed as she realised who had almost knocked her over. 'I take it you got off.'

'Of course.' Harry didn't stop at all.

'What's the hurry?' she called after them.

'We're going to open Harry's presents,' Hermione tossed back over her shoulder.

'Can I join in?'

'Yeah, but be quick.' Ron galloped after the others.

Almost out of breath, Harry finally turned into Ron's bedroom and landed with a heavy bounce on his bed. When the others came running in, they joined him in grabbing present after present until the only sound was laughter and ripping paper. When they were done, Harry gazed over the mountain of torn paper at his gifts.

As Ron would say, it was an excellent haul, most of which Harry could see coming in very handy in his battle against Voldemort.

Hermione had given him a large bottle of Polyjuice Potion. Mr and Mrs Weasley's present consisted of a box of homemade fudge and copies of _Magical Maladies_ and _The Healer's Helpmate_; Mrs Weasley had obviously given up believing that Harry was going to keep himself out of trouble and decided that cure would be more useful that prevention. Hagrid had sent a copy of _Curses and Counter-Curses_ by Vindictus Viridian, which promised excellent ammunition to use against Death Eaters, and Lupin and Tonks's gift was a portrait of Sirius. It wouldn't help much in the fight against the Dark forces but Harry was still touched that he now had a very decent reminder of his godfather.

But the best presents of all were from the Weasley offspring. Ron had given him a pair of shield gloves, Ginny, a shield hat and Fred and George, a shield cloak.

'I'd like to see You-Know-Who's lot try to get through all that,' remarked Ron as he stood back to survey Harry after he had donned the Wheezes products.

After a very appreciated lunch (Harry was starving after missing breakfast), the four of them headed down to the orchard to pit Harry's armour against Mr Viridian's curses, both with and without the Invisibility Cloak over top.

Fred and George arrived late afternoon and joined in the fun. But things didn't get really involved until Remus and Tonks turned up just before the party. With a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and an Auror present, the twins decided the opportunity was too good to miss and immediately set them to work putting their products through far more vigorous testing than the brothers ever could. By the time Mrs Weasley called them in to dinner, Harry was exhausted, battered and bruised, but wouldn't have had it any other way.

'Thanks for the portrait, Professor,' said Harry as they scraped their boots on the worn mat outside the kitchen door. 'And you too, Tonks.'

'Our pleasure,' said Lupin as Tonks grinned. 'And call me Remus. You're a man now, and I'm certainly not your teacher anymore.'

'So, what else did you get for your birthday, Harry?' asked Tonks as she helped Molly by fetching plates from the dresser. Harry rattled off the list.

'What about the one from Mrs Figg?' Molly looked up from putting the finishing touches on the most enticing cake Harry had ever seen.

'What one from – oh, I forgot all about that. Hang on, I'll be right back.' Reaching Ron's room in record time, he rummaged around under his bed until he felt a small parcel, then rushed back downstairs, breathing hard the whole way.

'This probably won't be all that good,' he warned, but everybody still watched with interest as he started to tear the wrapping revealing …

'Candles?' Ron scoffed. 'Well, you were right, mate. It wasn't good.'

'I wouldn't be so sure.' Lupin reached for the thin sticks of wax. 'May I?'

Harry half nodded, half shrugged. What more could they be except what they looked like? He watched in confusion as Lupin waved his wand above the handful of candles. His frown deepened as the candles started to glow purple.

'What –?'

'Who did you say gave these to you?' Lupin glanced up at Harry.

'Mrs Figg.'

'Arabella?'

Harry nodded.

Lupin frowned. 'Where would a Squib get her hands on something like these?'

'Like what?' Ron seemed to be thinking the same thing Harry was, that there was nothing special about a pile of candles.

'When you blew out your birthday candles when you were little, did you ever make a wish?' Lupin asked.

'No,' Harry snorted. 'I never had any birthday cakes, let alone candles to blow out.' He wished Mrs Weasley would stop looking at him with such pity.

'Well, now you're going to get a chance to make up for it.' Lupin smiled broadly. 'These aren't ordinary candles. When you blow out _these_ candles, you get seventeen wishes.'

'What, _real_ wishes?' Harry gazed up into Lupin's smiling eyes.

'When you blow out those,' Lupin placed the candles back into Harry's hand, 'you'll have twenty-four hours to make your wishes. Just light a candle, make a wish, and when it burns out, you'll get it.'

Even Ron and Hermione looked interested now. 'What can he wish for?' asked Hermione.

'Anything he wants except the impossible, money, knowledge or mayhem, including murder.'

'So I can't wish for Voldemort to be dead or anything like that?' Harry ignored the wave of shudders which rippled through the Weasley's.

Lupin shook his head. 'But you can wish for pretty much anything else. So start thinking up seventeen things you'd love to have.'

Harry caught Ron and Hermione's eyes. This was going to be fun. Or it would have been if he could think clearly. Suddenly, everybody was full of suggestions on what to wish for, most of which would suit the ones coming up with the ideas better than Harry.

'These are _Harry's_ wishes, remember,' Lupin shouted over the noise of fervent voices but nobody paid him any attention. It was only after the party was over (everyone had held their breaths as Harry had blown out the candles) and they were all relaxing sleepily in the warm air outside, that Mr Weasley made the best suggestion.

'Wish for things which can never be broken or taken away from you, and which can be passed from one to the other with just a few words. Wish for something you will treasure for the rest of your life. Wish for happy memories.'

_x_

'So, what are you going to wish for?'

It was midnight and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all gathered in Ron's bedroom, whispering so Mr and Mrs Weasley wouldn't hear.

'I'm going to follow your dad's advice and wish for happy memories.'

Ron's brow creased. 'Why would you want to wish for something so lame? You can have anything you want.'

'This _is_ what I want.' Harry held up a length of parchment.

'Is that your list?' Hermione tried to see what was written on it.

Harry nodded. 'I ran it by Lupin before, just to make sure that I wouldn't be wasting any wishes asking for the impossible. Hey!' Ron had snatched it from him.

He scanned down the page. He stopped halfway. 'What's with number eight?'

Harry watched his friend's face. 'What, you don't think that would make a happy memory?'

'It would make an excellent one. I just … I thought these things had to happen in the next twenty-four hours.'

'They have to start then, yes.'

'But –'

'You'll see.' Harry took the parchment back. 'Trust me, OK.'

'So, what happens now?' whispered Ginny.

'We start making some wishes.' Harry rattled the jar he had stored the candles in and grinned at his friends. Unscrewing the lid, he took one out and lit it. He stuck it into a holder, held it up in front of his face and, taking a deep breath, said 'I wish that this room was soundproof for the next seven hours.'

The candle burned down much faster than normal candles did, but then this was no ordinary candle. As it sputtered and died in its pool of melted wax, a soft hum echoed around the room. They all glanced around at each other nervously.

'Did it work?' asked Ron.

'There's one way to find out,' said Hermione, standing.

'What are you going to do?' Ron looked scared. 'Don't wake Mum and Dad.'

'Don't worry, Ron.' Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I'm just going to stand outside the door. Harry, knock on the door, getting steadily louder as you go. If I can hear it, I'll come back in and tell you.'

'How long do I knock for?'

'We'll try it for five minutes. If I can't hear you in that time, then I'd say we're pretty safe for the rest of the night.' She grinned at him.

For the next five minutes, Harry had fun making noise. He started pretty softly, just in case it hadn't worked, but when Hermione didn't come racing back in, telling them to keep it down, he grew bolder, getting louder and louder until he was fairly banging on the door. Ron and Ginny joined in with enthusiasm, Ron even shouting with increasing volume. When the five minutes were up, Hermione came back in.

'So, did you hear us?' asked Ron, grinning from ear to ear.

'Of course not,' Hermione replied. 'But then, Harry was only knocking.'

Harry, Ron and Ginny exchanged glances … and burst out laughing.

'Shhh!' Hermione glanced around nervously.

'Relax, Hermione,' Harry assured her. 'Nobody can hear us. We can do whatever we want, make as much noise as we want. Nobody will know.'

'They will when we don't wake up tomorrow because we're too sleepy.'

'Wish number seventeen.' Harry waved the list under her nose. 'So, what flavour ice-cream do you like best?'

'What?'

'Wish number eleven.'

'"Hermione gets to eat as much of her favourite ice-cream with Harry, Ron and Ginny",' Hermione read out. She glanced up at Harry, who grinned back at her. 'Erm …' She looked undecided but Harry couldn't help noticing a tiny gleam of desire in her eye as she licked her lips. 'Butterscotch ripple.'

'Ginny?' Harry glanced across at his former girlfriend who was kneeling on Ron's bed, a spoon ready in her hand.

'Liquorice, cherry and honeycomb.'

'Together?' Ron screwed his nose up.

'Why not?' she said. 'I like all three flavours but you can't get them together. Now's my only chance.'

'And what about you, Ron?' Harry turned to his friend, expectantly.

'Oh, that's a tough one, there are so many to choose from. Um … I think I'll have peppermint, marshmallow, dark chocolate, raspberry and caramel fudge.'

Ginny stared at him incredulously. 'And you reckon _mine _was weird. Yours will look like sludge.'

'Suddenly, my selection sounds really boring,' said Hermione in a dejected tone.

'You can always change your mind,' said Harry.

'What are you going to pick, Harry?' Ginny looked up at him.

'That's easy. Treacle tart, honey mead and blackcurrant syrup.' Harry sat, cross-legged, on his bed and got four candles out. 'Here goes.'

He lit the first one. 'I wish I had an unending carton of peppermint, marshmallow, dark chocolate, raspberry and caramel fudge-flavoured ice-cream.'

Ron's tongue was sticking out in concentration as he leant forwards, watching the candle burn down. As it died in its own juice, Harry was suddenly holding a round container covered in pink and green stripes. He passed it to Ron, who tugged off the lid.

'Whoa!' Ron's eyes were enormous as he gazed inside the container. The contents were not, as Ginny predicted, the colour of sludge, but green, white, dark brown, red and tan. Each flavour took up exactly one fifth of the container so that, from the top, it looked like a five-spoked wheel.

'So that's how it's done,' said Ginny. 'Good. I was wondering what mine was going to taste like.'

'You're next, Ginny.' Harry got another candle ready. Ginny waited with bated breath. 'I wish I had an unending carton of liquorice, cherry and honeycomb-flavoured ice-cream.' And, when that candle burnt itself out, Harry handed Ginny her tub.

'Want to change your request, Hermione?' Harry picked up a third candle.

'No,' she said, earning dropped jaws from Ron and Ginny and making them dribble ice-cream all over Ron's bedspread. 'That really is my absolute favourite flavour. I could eat it all day, if I knew it wouldn't make me sick.'

'OK, you asked for it.' Harry lit the candle. 'I wish I had an unending carton of butterscotch ripple-flavoured ice-cream.'

A moment later Hermione was tucking into her choice of indulgence, pure ecstasy plastered all over her face.

Taking up the last candle, Harry wished for his ice-cream, then joined his friends in moaning with pleasure as he dug out spoonfuls of heaven.

The girls snuck back to their own bedroom just after five, Hermione having first used Harry's wand to clean up all of the melted ice-cream from the bedspreads and walls. Halfway through the night, they had started swapping tubs, just to see what the others were like, and Harry's, with its honey mead, had made them all just a teensy bit tipsy. This had led to an ice-cream fight, boys against girls, and with an unending supply, they had made a _lot_ of mess. They had time to grab a couple of hours sleep before Mrs Weasley came to get them, giving Harry the cue to make his sixth wish: that they would all be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not displaying any signs that they had had less than a full night's sleep.

The whole family (with the exception of Percy) had either been given or taken the day off work, intending to use it to take care of last-minute things for the wedding, but Harry decided to put the morning to better use. After breakfast, he lit his seventh candle.

'Er … Harry … how did we get here?' Ron glanced around uncertainly.

They were standing in what looked like the Gryffindor Quidditch changing rooms at Hogwarts, except that the curtained walls were blue and white instead of scarlet and gold. Charlie, Fred, George and Ginny were also there, all of them were wearing blue and white Quidditch robes.

Harry gazed at the seventh person in their group.

'Are you ready, team?' asked the stranger.

'Ready!' said Harry emphatically. Charlie, Fred, George and Ginny still looked like they had stepped into an extremely bizarre dream. Ron gasped.

'_That's Dominic Roper-Power, captain of the England International Quidditch team!_' he whispered excitedly, grabbing Harry's arm. '_What's he doing here?_'

'Just play like you did in the semi-finals, and we've got that cup in the bag.' Dominic picked up a broom with the word _Firebolt _embossed upon it in gold. The Weasleys looked around and realised that there was a Firebolt for each of them.

'Let's go get them.' The captain started to lead them out to the game.

'Can someone please explain to me what's going on?' Charlie refused to move.

'You made that wish, didn't you?' Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously.

'What wish?' asked George.

'Harry's list of wishes,' Ron explained. 'There was one which had us playing for England in the World Cup.'

'_What?_' squealed Ginny. 'Oh, my God. I'm not that good!'

'Yes, you are,' Harry assured her. 'You all are. Except, perhaps …' He glanced at Charlie. 'Will you be right to play Chaser or would you rather sit this out?'

'You're serious, aren't you?' Charlie frowned at Harry.

'Yeah, he's serious.' George sounded like he had been hit by one of his own Bludgers as he peered through the opening leading out to the stadium. Ron, Fred and Ginny crowded around him for their own peeks. Ginny paled considerably.

Charlie was still frowning at Harry. 'Is this real?'

'Yep.'

'But … what happened to the rest of the team? And when did _England_ get themselves through to the final?'

'When I wished it.' Harry picked up his own Firebolt. 'Now, like the captain said, we have a match to win.' He turned and followed Roper-Power out to the stadium.

The others exchanged uncertain glances but, as ordered, took up their brooms and followed their captain. They were a team, after all.

'And here comes the England team. I give you Roper-Power! Weasley! Weasley! Weasley! Weasley! Weasley! Aaaaaaand – _Potter_!'

Thunderous applause and cheers bombarded them as they flew around the stadium, speeding after the captain.

'Harry,' Ron was the colour of milk. 'I can't do this.' His broom hovered next to Harry's as they waited for the balls to be released.

'Yes, you can.' Harry was finding it hard to contain his excitement. 'You've managed to win two Quidditch cups so far. Think of this as the same.'

'With that lot trying to stop us?' He gazed at the Transylvanian team opposite them. Wearing robes the colour of blood, all seven of them had dark hair, glistening with oil. Ron gulped as the three Chasers grinned at him, revealing long teeth which looked suspiciously like fangs.

'Hey Ron,' Charlie leaned over. 'Look up in the top box.'

Ron squinted towards the box they had all sat in when Ireland had beaten Bulgaria. Waving at them proudly were Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur and Hermione. And looking very disgruntled in the corner, as if he wished he wasn't there …

'Do you really want to make a fool of yourself in front of Percy?'

'What's he doing here?' Ron turned to Harry. 'You didn't wish _him_ here, surely.' But a sharp whistle blast put a stop to any further chatter.

'Theeeeeeeey're OFF! screamed Bagman. 'And it's Roper-Power! Weasley! Weasley! Back to Roper-Power! Weasley! And Weasley … _scores_!'

A hundred thousand screams hit Harry like a tidal wave as Ginny scored. She did a couple of lightning fast laps of the pitch to celebrate as the England mascot, – a gigantic lion formed by thousands of fairies flying together – soared above the crowd, then the Quaffle was being tossed back into play by the Transylvanian Keeper.

'… And Weasley saves the attempt by Vlad to get the Quaffle past him and the scores are ENGLAND: FIFTY, TRANSYLVANIA: ZERO.

'… And Potter has seen the Snitch. He's speeding towards the ground at breakneck speed, Zog valiantly trying to catch him. _They're going to crash!_'

Harry pulled up at the last second, his broom equal to the task asked of it. A mournful 'Ooooh!' echoed behind him as the Transylvanian Seeker crashed into the ground, fooled for a third time by Harry's Wronski Feint.

'… And Weasley saves the goal _yet again_!' Bagman's voice was sounding decidedly hoarse after an hour of screaming fanatically. 'He wasn't at all fooled by Transylvania's attempted Flying Impaler. And the Transylvanian captain is not happy. Not happy at all. And if I am not mistaken, he is calling for the entire team to stage a protest. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, I don't believe we've ever seen the likes of this before. It would be a sorry way for England to win after all the work they've put in, having the cup handed to them by a walkout. But … wait a moment …' Bagman's voice rose in pitch, 'Has Potter spotted the Snitch this time? It must be, ladies and gentlemen. It can't be another feint because Zog is being tied up by his captain. And …'

Harry was zooming from the far end of the stadium, through the protesting opposition, scattering players like skittles, straight at the top box. Bagman screamed and even Mrs Weasley shrieked in terror, but Harry could see Mr Weasley and Bill's eyes widen in horrified fascination as he got closer. He stretched out a hand towards Bagman's chin.

'_He's got it! Potter scores one hundred and fifty points for catching the Golden Snitch!_' Bagman sounded very shaky as he read out the final scores – ENGLAND: FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY, TRANSYLVANIA: FORTY.

Not that Harry was taking much notice. He was being tugged every which way as the five Weasleys hung off him, slowly dragging him back up to the top box, where the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, was waiting to pass the enormous World Cup to the England captain.

_x_

'Oh, Harry, I don't know when I've ever been so terrified. What on earth made you make such a wish?'

Mrs Weasley was shaking like a leaf as Hermione made her a cup of tea. 'Don't you _dare_ put me through something like that _ever again!_'

'Come on, Mum.' Bill tossed Harry a wink. 'You enjoyed every minute of it. How many mothers can say they've had _five_ children win the World Cup?'

The atmosphere in the Burrow's kitchen was pure euphoria, despite Mrs Weasley's objections.

'Eef just _one_ of my cheeldren playz in zee World Cup final, I would be very 'appy.' Fleur was gazing around at them all with a very impressed look on her beautiful face. 'Eet looks like I am going to marry a _very_ talented family, eendeed.'

'Even if it was only wishful thinking, I'm still very proud of all of you.' Mr Weasley beamed at his children. 'I know I told you to wish for a happy memory, Harry, but … _wow_! That was a beauty.'

'It's not like it was a proper win,' sulked Percy sourly. 'The match had stopped, so Harry cheated.'

'The Transylvanian Seeker chased after Harry before he got to the Snitch so the game was still in progress, no matter what the rest of his team was doing.' Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother.

'Shut up, Perce.' Charlie was rubbing blue ointment into his left bicep. 'You're just jealous because you've haven't got any talent yourself.'

'Don't you have a job you're not doing at the moment?' Fred glowered at his estranged brother.

Percy pouted back. 'Yes, I do. And I'll thank you all not to waste any more of my valuable time.' And without even giving his mother a goodbye kiss, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as he had gone, a hush fell over the room for all of five seconds, then –

'Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!'

The explosion of noise threatened to shake the already shaky Burrow to its very foundations.

It took a couple more hours for the adrenalin to wear off a bit but, by the time Mrs Weasley began to get lunch ready, their grins were starting to recede a fraction. Bill had promised to take Harry to Gringotts to get some money to be going on with and Hermione, Ron and Ginny all wanted to go, too. Mrs Weasley didn't think it was a very good idea them leaving the house with so little supervision but, as Ron delighted in pointing out to his mother, he, Harry and Hermione were all seventeen, so there wasn't a thing she could do to stop them. She could, however, put her foot down about Ginny (which Ron's sister certainly made her views clear about) but Mrs Weasley would not be moved so, after lunch, only Harry, Ron and Hermione went back upstairs to get ready to go into London.

As they were climbing the stairs, Harry leant across and whispered something to Hermione.

'What did you just say to her?' Ron frowned after Hermione as she turned into her room.

'You'll see,' said Harry mysteriously but wouldn't expand on his answer. Ron was still eyeing him suspiciously when they entered his bedroom.

'Wait up.' Harry stopped Ron from opening his wardrobe.

'Now what?' Ron turned back to his friend. 'What are you going to do with that?' he asked as Harry set up another candle.

'You'll see.' Harry grinned as he lit the wick. He gazed intently at the candle and moved his lips, but no sound issued forth.

'What did you just wish for?' Ron asked warily.

'You'll see.'

Ron still looked sceptical. 'Right. Well, I hope you wished to be dressed quickly, ready to go, or Mum's going to be real –'

Harry's grinned widened as Ron opened his wardrobe door and stopped, speechless.

'That's for being my best friend. I want you to not have to put up with mean, snide remarks from the Malfoys of this world, always having a go at you about your clothes.'

'Oh, mate. This is too much,' Ron whispered in awe as he stared at the full wardrobe of brand new, unfaded, unpatched, latest-line wizards wear, complete with several pairs of new, well-polished shoes. He turned back to Harry. 'I can't accept this.'

'Too late now.' Harry held up the burnt-out candle. 'And while we're at it …' Harry used up three more candles, wishing for a new outfit for himself for Bill and Fleur's wedding, new shoes to go with it, and a more comfortable cage for Hedwig.

A soft knock on the door heralded Hermione's arrival.

'Did you bring them?' asked Harry.

'Bring what?' Ron frowned at the two of them as Hermione held up the broken pieces of her wand.

'So, what do you want my wand for … why are you drooling, Ron? Oh,' she exclaimed, noticing the open wardrobe behind him. She looked back over her shoulder at Harry. 'Did you do that?'

Harry nodded.

'But those wishes are supposed to be for you. They're meant to make _you_ happy,' Hermione reminded him.

'That did make me happy. Very happy. And so will this.' Harry lit another candle. When it faded to nothing …

'Oh!' Hermione gazed down at the repaired wand in her hand. 'Oh, Harry, you shouldn't have.'

'Look, if you want to make me happy, you can do so by helping me. And you'll be able to do that best by having a wand. You won't be much help to me without it, not with what we still have to do yet.'

'I suppose.' Hermione seemed to be trying not to look extremely over the moon about having her wand back in one piece but wasn't doing a very good job.

'Just say, "thank you, we love you very much, Harry", and we'll leave it at that,'

He suddenly found himself buried under a pile of pillows.

Still laughing, they all trooped back downstairs, meeting Bill halfway down.

'You're not going to town dressed like that, are you?' Mrs Weasley looked up from the lunch dishes as Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Bill into the kitchen.

They frowned down at their jeans and T-shirts. 'What's wrong with how we look?' asked Hermione.

'They're Muggle outfits.' said Mrs Weasley. 'You aren't planning on going into Muggle London, are you?'

'No.' Harry looked at her blankly. 'What difference does that make?'

'Well, you'll stand out a mile in Diagon Alley in that get-up. You really should wear something a little more suited to the situation. You are wizards and witches, after all.'

'But we've never had any trouble wearing Muggle clothes to Diagon Alley before,' Hermione pointed out.

'Yes, but that was before.' Mrs Weasley gave her wand another flick over the sink. 'Diagon Alley's changed; you're regarded with great suspicion if you don't look the part now. You don't want to go getting into trouble with the wrong people.'

'Who –?'

'Just people,' Mrs Weasley didn't answer Harry's question to his satisfaction. 'So you just march back upstairs and change into something more suitable.'

No amount of arguing would change her mind or even drag a better answer out of her so, Ron grumbling with every step, they returned to their rooms to change into wizard's robes.

'If we have to look like wizards, then we need to act like wizards,' said Ron, grabbing up his wand and tucking it inside his robes. 'And the best part is, Mum can't stop us.'

Back downstairs, Mrs Weasley embarrassed them further by making them line up in front of the fireplace so she could inspect them, making sure they measured up to some unknown benchmark, though she didn't seem to notice Ron's new clothes at all, before allowing them to follow Bill into the fire with an order to behave themselves.

'Why does she still have to treat us like we're only two?' Ron complained as they had left Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and headed up Diagon Alley towards Gringotts. 'She doesn't treat Fred and George like that.'

'She'll improve,' said Hermione soothingly. 'She just needs to see evidence that you're all grown up.'

'What evidence have Fred and George given her to prove they are? They're still fooling around with joke stuff, just like when they were kids.'

'They're running their own _very successful_ business,' Hermione pointed out. 'As soon as she sees you fighting Voldemort and not being at school anymore, she'll change.'

Ron still looked sceptical but didn't say anything more.

Trotting along after Bill, Harry glanced around. If anything, the atmosphere seemed to be darker than it had been last time he was here. Shop fronts were still hidden behind Ministry notices, but the purple had faded considerably after a year of sun exposure and many of the edges were frayed and torn. Along the street, several more shop windows had been boarded up, though this seemed to be due more to them going out of business rather than their former owners being attacked by Death Eaters if the messages painted across their fronts were anything to go by. There didn't even seem to be as many stalls lining the street, showing that Mr Weasley's department were having some success or, like their more permanent neighbours, they had closed up shop due to lack of customers.

And there certainly did seem to be a lot fewer customers out and about. Harry saw a total of five groups along the full length of Diagon Alley who looked like they might actually be shopping, even though there seemed to be quite a lot of people wandering up and down the street. Most of the people he could see were wearing dark grey robes and pointed hats with a large black 'M' embroidered on them. They seemed to be some sort of patrol, with their marching stride and serious, almost hawk-like expressions, and were watching each of the shoppers quite closely.

As Harry glanced back along the alley, he saw what was clearly a group of Muggles come through the archway from the Leaky Cauldron. A small girl amongst them looked like she might be a first-year; she was clutching what looked like a Hogwarts letter and her large overawed eyes certainly telegraphed that this was the first time she had ever seen anything to do with the wizarding world. Harry wondered if _his_ eyes had looked like that when Hagrid had brought him here.

Almost as soon as they had entered Diagon Alley, every … officer, Harry supposed they were … descended upon the new group and began questioning, poking and prodding so hard that the family's delight at this amazing new world very quickly changed to terror. The little girl was almost in tears, and when she suddenly zapped two of the men with her new powers, both she and her parents found themselves being hauled off out of sight.

'Don't,' Bill ordered as both Harry and Hermione went to go towards them.

'But … she didn't mean it.' Harry couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. 'She was frightened. I did stuff like that myself before I started at Hogwarts.'

'We all did.' Bill kept walking towards Gringotts. 'But you don't want to go making trouble for yourself unnecessarily. Now, let's hurry.'

'Why did they pick on them like that?' Hermione kept glancing back over her shoulder. 'Was it because they're new to this?'

'It was because they didn't look like wizards.' Bill strode purposefully towards the bank. Harry, Ron and Hermione frowned at him. 'The Ministry is highly suspicious of anything which appears to be less than completely magical … they're suspicious of everything full stop, actually … but Muggle-looking stuff rates up there near the top. They seem to think that no self-respecting witch or wizard would willingly declare their support for You-Know-Who and, because of all the pamphlets the Ministry has distributed, everyone knows how to fight off You-Know-Who and his supporters, so the Dark side now has no choice but to use Muggles to do their dirty work. And, of course, that chap in the Muggle Prime Minister's office didn't help matters at all last year.'

'Do you mean the one who was quacking?' asked Hermione. 'I remember seeing him on the news.'

'That's the one. Apparently, he reacted badly to an Imperius Curse, so someone had managed to get to him. And if they could get to him, they can get to any Muggle.'

'But that's silly, thinking no witches or wizards would have anything to do with Voldemort,' said Harry angrily. 'What about all the people who _willingly_ became Death Eaters?'

'The Ministry doesn't consider them to be self-respecting.'

'Does that include Malfoy and Yaxley?' asked Harry as they mounted the steps leading up to Gringotts' front doors. Bill's face tightened but he didn't say anything as he held the door for them.

Getting through the new security measures didn't take as long as it should have thanks to Harry using up yet another wish. Less than twenty minutes later, they were all zooming at high speed through the labyrinth of tunnels which led to the high-security section of Gringotts.

'Your vault isn't this far down, is it?' Ron looked around with a slightly alarmed expression on his face, obviously thinking they were lost.

'I want to check out Sirius's family vault,' Harry replied as their cart started to slow down. 'I haven't been to it since I inherited.'

'Vault number one hundred and eleven,' their goblin announced as the cart stopped. They all climbed out.

'Stand back, please.' The goblin (whose name was Shaddock) threw out an arm to stop Ron advancing and stroked the door gently with a long finger, making it melt away.

'Wow!'

All three teenagers crowded closer to get a good look inside the vault. It was like a large room, almost three quarters full of every type of treasure and valuable imaginable. Precious gems winked in the flickering light, portraits of dark-eyed faces scowled and sneered at them from within heavy gold frames, silver utensils lay tarnished upon more Galleons than Harry thought he could count in a lifetime. And all this was his. No matter how long it took for him to find all of the remaining Horcruxes, Harry knew his finances would certainly hold up.

'Did you wish to make a withdrawal today, sir or were you only wanting to take account?' asked Shaddock, gazing up at Harry expectantly.

'I'll make a withdrawal.' Harry hadn't really thought about what he was going to do, but now that he was here, he might as well take advantage of the opportunity. He reached through the doorway and began scooping handfuls of coins into a large sack.

'Is there any way Harry can get an inventory?' Hermione asked Bill. 'Just so he knows if there's anything useful in all of that.'

'Useful?' Ron leant against the wall opposite them and folded his arms. 'I'd say all of it was pretty useful. It's certainly all valuable.'

'I was thinking about some of the stuff we cleaned out of Sirius's house two years ago,' said Hermione. 'Sure, that was useful, but only in a very dark – _Ron!_'

Harry dropped the bag. He turned from the vault at the sound of Hermione's cry in time to see Ron's feet disappear through the middle of a very dark door; he hadn't been leaning against a wall, but the door of the vault opposite the Sirius's. Hermione rushed forwards.

'Don't!' Harry yelled, but too late. She had already touched the door and, with another cry, was sucked through it after her boyfriend.

'Do something!' Harry ordered as Shaddock stared at the source of the commotion but, instead of stroking the door and opening it, the goblin merely leered evilly.

'That is what awaits the sin of greed: they must now pay most dearly in their turn.' Shaddock quoted the Gringotts warning at him.

'They weren't trying to steal anything. Ron was just leaning against the door, he didn't know it would do that; he's never been down this far before. And neither has Hermione.'

The goblin remained unmoved.

'I'll go get help.' Bill earned a reproachful glare from Shaddock but the goblin didn't try to stop him leaving. 'Let them know everything will be OK.'

Harry gazed uncertainly after Bill. How was he supposed to tell Ron and Hermione that help was on its way? No doubt Ron, at least, was reacting quite frantically, yet Harry couldn't hear a thing coming from the vault, so it was probably soundproof.

'These things don't have intercoms, do they?"

'Inter – what?' Shaddock stared at Harry as if he had gone mad.

'Never mind.' Harry stared at the vault door, undecided. He could only see one way of telling his friends what was going on. Ignoring yet another leer from the goblin, he reached out a hand and touched the vault's door. Suddenly, for one terrifying moment, he was being turned inside out as a hurricane roared inside his ears, then he found himself falling face down into a pile of heavy metal.

'_Harry!_'

'Are you OK, mate?' Ron grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Harry nodded shakily as he glanced around.

'Hermione reckons I fell through that door I was leaning against.'

'Sucked through, actually,' Harry explained. 'It's part of the security for these vaults. If anybody except a goblin touches the door, even the proper owner of the vault, then they get sucked in.'

'How often do they check them?' asked Hermione.

'About once every ten years.'

'What?' Ron looked horrified. 'You mean we're stuck in here for …?' He didn't seem able to put the timeframe into words.

'Of course we're not stuck here, Ron,' said Hermione as if she couldn't believe Ron would consider such a thing plausible. 'That goblin can easily let us out.'

'Then why hasn't he?' Ron's voice was slightly higher pitched than normal.

'Because he won't,' Harry dropped his bombshell.

'_What?_' Now it was Hermione's turn to squeak. '_Why not?_'

'Something about the sin of greed. He just quoted the Gringotts warning at me. Don't worry, Bill's going for help.'

This seemed to reassure his friends sufficiently to make some of the colour return to their pale faces. Hermione awkwardly climbed over the piles of gold to where a large stone ring, at least eight feet in diameter, was leaning against the back wall.

'What is it?' Harry clamoured over the treasure to join her in her perusal.

'A Draumr Kopa ring. I think,' she added hastily, wanting to make it clear that she wasn't absolutely certain.

'A what?'

'It was used in very ancient times to divine when certain plants should be sowed and harvested. When the time was right, engraved symbols would suddenly appear in each of those sections telling the owner to get to work in the garden.' She pointed at the divided sections running all around the ring. 'Only the most ancient families ever owned them.'

The mention of ancient families made Ron look up. 'We're not in the Malfoy vault, are we?'

'Put that down,' Hermione ordered, noticing that he had picked up a sword.

'I wasn't going to steal it, 'said Ron testily. 'I was just checking it out. Wow.' His eyes lighted upon a silver dragon's head poking out of the jumble. He dropped the sword and reached forwards, pulling it out with a tug. The dragon was attached to the top of a gleaming helmet. 'Wow.'

Hermione looked interested despite her earlier protest. 'That looks like it was goblin-made. I wonder where the armour is to match it?' This started Ron rummaging through the pile, looking for the rest of it.

'Goblin-made armour?'

Hermione gazed at Harry, curious. 'It looks like it. Why?'

Harry ignored her question. 'And that ring.' He pointed at the stone circle. 'You said it was used in very ancient times.' Again, she nodded. 'By people who were really into Herbology?'

'Where are you leading to?' Hermione was frowning at him now.

'I think I know whose vault this is.'

Ron dropped the armour and sword. 'What? How? Is it Malfoy's?'

'No.' Harry glanced around at the assortment of gold chalices, dishes, and coins. 'I think it might be the Smith's vault. In the memory Dumbledore showed me of Voldemort and Hepzibah Smith, Voldemort said he had been sent to increase Borgin and Burke's offer for "the goblin-made armour". That looks like it might be it. That was also when she showed Voldemort Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup.'

'What?' Ron gaped at him. 'One of You-Know-Who's Horcruxes is here.' He pulled out his wand and, without thinking about what he was about to do, shouted, '_Accio cup_!'

Every cup in the place started flying at him.

'_Ow!_' Ron snatched up the sword again and began beating off the cups like he was swinging a cricket bat, hitting Harry and Hermione as they dived for cover.

'What –?'

Hermione pulled out her wand.

'_Finite Incantatum!_'

Suddenly, the turmoil stopped.

'Good one, Ron.' Hermione scowled as she rounded on her boyfriend. 'Could you have been a little less specific. Accio _cup_, really.'

'I was just trying to –'

'Be stupid,' Hermione finished for him.

'But Harry said this is Hepzibah Smiths' vault. So the Hor –'

'Oh, Ron, do you really think Hufflepuff's cup would be amongst this lot.' Hermione snapped. 'Voldemort _stole_ it.' She sat down on a pile of sickles and began checking her arms, shaking slightly with anger and pain.

Harry didn't blame her. He was feeling pretty battered and bruised himself. Glancing around at the three of them, he saw that they were all covered in cuts and scratches, and their robes were torn.

Ron's embarrassment over his attempts to find the Hufflepuff Horcrux was fortunately enough to make him keep his wand to himself and he also sank onto the treasure, muttering under his breath, his back to Hermione.

Harry wondered how long it would take Bill to fetch help but, before he could ponder the problem very much, the door suddenly burst into flames. Ron grabbed the sword again as the three of them jumped up, ready to battle this new threat but, instead, they found themselves face to face with an angry middle-aged woman and …

'Zacharius Smith. What are you doing here?' Hermione blinked at the newcomers, then clapped her hand against her forehead. 'Oh, of course, the _Smith_ vault.'

Bill stepped in front of Zacharius's mother and helped haul Harry, Ron and Hermione out of the vault. Zacharius grinned with glee at the sight of the three Gryffindors looking so battle-weary. Ron glared at him.

'Anything we can help you with?'

'Yes,' Mrs Smith screwed her nose up as Ron passed. 'You can return all of the gold you just stole.' She waved her wand at Ron but nothing happened. Frowning, she tried again, then waved her wand at Harry and Hermione. Still no gold was forthcoming.

'You broke into our vault and you didn't nick _anything_?' Zacharius exclaimed disbelievingly.

'As I explained to your mother,' said Bill, 'they didn't break in. Ron didn't know about the security on these vaults and accidentally leant against yours.'

'Then how did Potter and Granger get in there?'

'We went in to tell Ron that help was on its way.' Harry replied, throwing Zacharius a contemptuous look. Admittedly, he had never really had a lot to do with Zacharius Smith before, but he had never thought of him as being a snob like Malfoy. He found he didn't really like him very much and was glad he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts. It was just a pity he had to see him now, and under such embarrassing circumstances.

'What happened?' Bill asked as he ran an eye over their less than pristine appearance. Harry heard Mrs Smith telling the goblin that she wanted a full audit done of her vault's contents.

'Oh, Ron found a helmet and cast "Accio" to find the armour which went with it, and _everything_ suddenly flew at us,' Harry replied as Bill led them back to the Gringotts cart.

Before they left the bank, Bill called into a crowded office on the ninth floor and collected a small parcel from a goblin squirreled away amongst boxes bulging to the brim with more rings than Harry would have thought there were fingers on the planet, then he led them back out into the afternoon sun.

Over lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, Bill showed them what was in the parcel. It turned out to be the rings for the wedding next day.

'Oh,' Hermione breathed as she gently removed one and examined it closely.

Harry leaned forwards. It didn't look at all like any wedding ring he had seen before. While Aunt Petunia's engagement ring had a diamond in a claw clasp, both hers and Uncle Vernon's wedding rings were just plain, gold bands. No engraved date or sentiments or anything. But this ring consisted of two very thin strips of gold running around the border, joined by numerous scrolling shapes, almost as if someone had written them with gold ink.

'Are those runes?' he asked, eyeing the shapes.

'Hmm.' Hermione nodded. 'It translates as "For as the sun is daily new and old, so is my love still telling what is told". That's from one of Shakespeare's sonnets; number seventy six.'

Bill looked impressed by her effort. 'Let me guess, you got Outstanding for your Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies OWLs.' He grinned. Harry remembered that Bill had gotten twelve OWLs, which meant he had to have been doing pretty much every subject available, so he was probably pretty good at Runes himself.

'Ancient Runes, yes. I didn't do Muggle Studies,' Hermione informed him.

They were almost finished lunch when a tall man with very tanned skin entered through the door leading up to the hotel bedrooms, voluminous robes sweeping around him as he walked. Bill waved him over.

'Kaveesh.' Bill and the stranger embraced in a bear hug. Turning to the others, he began the introductions. 'You've met my baby brother, Ron, before.' (Ron screwed his nose up at being called 'Baby'.) 'This is his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, and his best friend, Harry Potter.' The stranger eyed Harry with interest. 'Everybody, this is my friend, Kaveesh Baghan. We used to work together in Egypt.'

'It is a great pleasure to be acquainted with the friends of my good friend, Bill,' said Baghan in a deep, satin-smooth voice as he bowed to each of them in turn, earning a scathing glare from Ron as he gently grasped Hermione's hand and kissed it, making her blush.

'Are you settled in upstairs, OK?' asked Bill as Baghan sat down.

'Yes, the accommodations here are most satisfactory.' There was something almost mesmerising about that voice and Harry found himself wishing he could sound like that. 'This is where the festivities will be held tonight, is it not?'

'Mmm.' Bill nodded. 'Everyone should start arriving soon after five and then …' He raised his eyebrows at Harry and Ron a couple of times as his face split in a silly grin.

Baghan glanced uncertainly at Hermione. 'And the young lady?'

'Oh, Hermione won't be here.' Bill was still grinning. 'It's strictly men only.'

'I don't know that we would _want_ to be part of this,' said Hermione in a revolted tone. 'I've heard about these sort of parties and we definitely don't want to get involved. Besides, I have my own party to go to.'

'What are you talking about?' Ron was frowning very deeply at her.

'Fleur's bridal shower. It's tonight, too. It should be a lot of fun. I just hope you two don't make too much noise and disturb us.' She scowled at Harry and Ron.

'What do you mean? Aren't you having Fleur's party at home?' asked Ron.

'Of course.'

'Then how do you possibly expect to hear us from here? I know we'll probably be pretty rowdy but I doubt even your ears are that good,' said Ron.

'You won't be here,' said Hermione smugly. 'There's no way your mum will let you get involved in anything like this.'

'I'd like to see her stop us.' He glanced across at Harry 'Right?'

'Right.' Harry crossed his arms. 'Whether Mrs Weasley likes it or not, we're seventeen now so, like Ron said, she can't stop us.'

'And neither can you,' Ron added for good measure.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Bill stepped in. 'They're right, Hermione, they've been invited to this. Do you want me not to have _all _of my brothers join me in my last night of freedom?'

Hermione arched a brow. 'Oh, is Percy coming?' she asked tartly, smirking as Bill's ears started to redden.

'OK, all of my brothers who are on speaking terms with me, then. And last time I checked, Ron was still on that list. Drop it, Hermione,' he added as she still tried to make her feelings heard. 'I could say a few things about the hens' night you're going to but I won't. I'll just bid you good luck, have fun and goodbye.' He glanced meaningfully towards the exit.

'This night of chickens you are attending,' Baghan purred; Ron snorted into his Butterbeer. 'You will be seeing the bride, correct?'

Hermione nodded.

Baghan reached into his robes. 'Then, if you would be so kind, would you please give her this, with my blessing.' He handed Hermione a small glass bottle full of gold liquid.

'What is it?' Hermione looked at it curiously.

'Egyptian kohl.'

Hermione gasped as she gazed up at Bill's friend.

'I thought coal was black, like soot.' Ron was frowning at the bottle.

'Not coal, Ron. _Kohl!_ K-O-H-L. It's the stuff the ancient Egyptians used to outline their eyes with. You see it all the time in their pictures.'

'What, the stuff that makes them look like they've got too much mascara on?' Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

'But it's still black. This stuff is yellow.' Ron sounded like he didn't think Hermione was playing with a full set of gobstones.

'That,' Baghan silky voice resonated again, 'is because this is _gold_ kohl. Very rare. Guaranteed to make even the most ordinary woman as beautiful as a goddess.'

'Oh,' Hermione breathed. 'Fleur will love it.'

'Then I look forward to seeing her eyes shine as bright as gold at the wedding tomorrow.' He took Hermione's hand again. 'It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Hermione. May you have much enjoyment and merriment tonight.' Harry noticed that Hermione was breathing funny as Baghan planted yet another kiss on her hand.

Right after Hermione left to return to the Burrow, Harry rented a couple of rooms from Tom so he and Ron could get some sleep in preparation for the long night ahead of them but, once he knew Ron was safely in his room, Harry locked the door of his own room and took out his remaining candles. Lighting one, he wished that Hogwarts would stay open. A second candle saw him wish that nobody would have sore heads tomorrow as a result of tonight. And the third …

'I wish the Mirror of Erised was in this room for one hour.'

Setting the hourglass he had bought in Diagon Alley earlier that day on the floor next to the Mirror, Harry sat down to enjoy some precious time with his long-dead family.

_x_

'Great party, don't you think?' Fred passed Harry a tankard of Madam Rosmerta's finest mead.

Harry glanced around the Leaky Cauldron, which was full of countless people, taking in all the noise and laughter. Ron was trying to do a hula dance for a hat stand over in the corner and Harry wondered, briefly, if the twins hadn't, perhaps, slipped him something.

'Pity the strongest stuff here is this mead,' Fred continued. 'Some Firewhisky would go down perfectly at a do like this. Can't understand why Bill and Charlie are being so unadventurous.'

Harry flushed guiltily. 'Er … I think that one might be my fault,' he admitted, staring at the counter he was leaning against.

'How?' Fred frowned at him.

'I used one of my birthday candles to wish that nobody would have a sore head tomorrow as a result of tonight. I meant it to mean that we could get roaring drunk and not have hangovers in the morning, but it looks like the candle took it to mean that there wouldn't be anything here to get us roaring drunk in the first place.' He grinned sheepishly. 'I'm sorry.'

Fred waved his twin over. 'You're never going to guess what Harry did.'

'You're joking,' George exclaimed when Fred had finished telling the story.

Harry shook his head.

'Well, you can jolly well wish that wish undone.' said George indignantly.

'I can't,' Harry explained. 'I've only got one candle left and I want to use that for Bill and Fleur's wedding present.'

'You'd better hurry up then.' Fred glanced at the clock behind the bar. 'It's almost seven fifty. Doesn't the twenty-four hours run out at seven fifty-three?'

'Yes.' Harry put his drink down on the bar. 'Be back in a minute.' With difficulty, he fought his way through the throng to the man of the moment. 'Bill, can I have a word with you a second? In private?'

'Sure,' Bill was about to start sculling the yard of Butterbeer Charlie and Baghan were forcing onto him. 'Be with you in a couple of minutes.'

'No, now!' Harry stressed. He took out the last candle and held it up for the best man to see. 'Please, Charlie; this can't wait.'

Charlie blinked at Harry uncomprehendingly for a moment, then realisation dawned. He checked his watch. 'Oh, yeah, I suppose this is your last chance, isn't it? Righto, old chap.' He hauled his brother into a more upright position. 'You're needed elsewhere.'

Half carrying, half dragging, Charlie maneuvered his older brother through the crowd until they were clear.

'I can walk on my own, thanks, Charlie,' Bill tried to fight his way out of his brother's grip only to promptly fall down.

'Come on.' Fred and George added their hands to the cause so that, between them, they managed to get Bill down the hall to the back office with eighty-two seconds to spare.

'OK, Harry,' George shut the door behind them. 'You're on.'

'Bill,' said Harry, 'this is my wedding present to both you and Fleur.'

Bill frowned in puzzlement as Harry lit the candle.

'I wish that the next forty-eight hours will be perfect for Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour-soon-to-be-Weasley.'

He glanced around at the others. 'Do you think that should cover it properly?'

'Oh, definitely, mate,' said Fred, impressed, as the candle sputtered and died. He reached for the extinguished ball of wax and began to examine it. 'Reckon these might be worth stocking?'

His twin nodded. 'Yeah, might be. Though I think we'd be better off if we made our own and set them up so they work like Harry's. Only intangible wishes. Teaches people to value the little things in life, like time spent with family, that sort of thing.' He turned as a cheer echoed down the hall from the dining room.

'Hello,' Charlie jumped up. 'Sounds like the dancing girls are here.'

'Dancing girls?' Harry glanced around at them uncertainly.

'What sort of best man do you think I would be if I didn't book dancing girls for my brother's stag party. It's almost mandatory.'

Still unsure, Harry followed the Weasley men back down the passageway.

'You didn't,' he breathed as he saw a dozen of the most beautiful women in the world glide into view, moon-bright skin shining in the candlelight, white-gold hair fanning behind them even though there was no wind. Sticking his fingers into his ears as the Veela began to dance, Harry grinned widely, glad that Hermione couldn't see Ron's face at that moment.


	6. Chapter 6: McGonagall's Offer

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER SIX –**

**McGonagall's Offer**

The morning of the wedding, Harry felt more in the way than ever. Even though the ceremony wasn't until mid-afternoon, Mrs Weasley had everybody up by six and kept them all running from one end of the house to the other, fetching things, showering and feeling like they had been caught in a hurricane. Charlie could be seen silently muttering to himself, practising the speech he would have to give at the wedding breakfast, and Hermione and Tonks spent most of the morning following Bill around, trying to persuade him to let them put just a _little_ bit of makeup on him, something which Fred and George found very amusing. An argument broke out between the girls and twins ('We don't want to make him sissy, it's just to hide the scars!'), making Mrs Weasley explode and everybody else dive for cover to avoid the shrapnel.

At ten o'clock, a group of house-elves arrived to take the wedding food to Hogwarts, and after a very hurried lunch, Mrs Weasley sat down to attack Harry's head with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

'This really isn't necessary, Mrs Weasley,' Harry tried to pull away from the comb. 'Honest.' But no amount of protesting would sway her, and by the time he finally escaped upstairs to change, his hair felt like it had been set in concrete. The look on Ron's face said it all.

'Stop laughing!' Harry scowled at him, and resolved not to talk to his friend again until he got all this goop off his hair, but his mood brightened a bit when he got downstairs and Tonks told him he looked very dashing.

'Hurry, everybody,' Mr Weasley called. 'It's half past two.' They all bumped into each other in their rush to line up by the kitchen door.

'Charlie, you've got the rings?'

Charlie held up the ring box for his mother to see.

'_Lose those things now!_' Several fireworks flew out of Fred and George's dress robes in answer to their mother's Summons. She passed them to Hermione who dumped them on the table, though Harry could have sworn there weren't as many as Mrs Weasley had confiscated.

'Now what's wrong, Molly?' Mr Weasley leant against the fireplace as his wife wandered aimlessly around the kitchen, gazing at nothing in particular and patting herself like she'd lost her car keys.

'I've forgotten something, I'm sure I've forgotten something.'

'You haven't forgotten anything,' Mr Weasley sighed. 'Now, come on, or we'll be late.'

'But –'

'Please, Mrs Weasley,' said Hermione. 'If we don't get going, Bill will get there after Fleur.'

'We need Neville's Remembrall,' Ron muttered to Harry.

'Why? It wouldn't tell your mum what she's forgotten.'

'No, but it would prove to her that Dad's right – she hasn't forgotten anything.'

'But if she _has_, we'd never get away,' Harry pointed out. 'She'd have us all turning the house upside-down looking for who knows what.'

The combined efforts of Hermione and Mr Weasley had Mrs Weasley being (firmly) led from the house before many more minutes passed and they were finally ready to leave.

'Charlie,' Harry heard Mr Weasley mutter to his second son. 'Would you mind going with your mother? That way she'll definitely get there.'

They Apparated to just outside the Hogwarts gates, where Filch let them in, muttering the whole time about how much extra work this was all making for him, but everybody was in too good spirits to let his crusted bitterness spoil the day. Determined to find some reason to hang at least Fred and George by their thumbs in his dungeon, he managed to run his Sensory Sensor over them three times but yielded nothing (Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed suspiciously at that one) and he was left at his post complaining that they had 'no right being happy; it's only been a month.'

'Why's Filch so upset about Dumbledore being dead?' Ron wanted to know as they trooped across the lawn towards the lake. Harry glanced over towards the Forbidden Forest; Hagrid's hut had been rebuilt as good as new, but there was no sign of the gamekeeper. He gazed down at his feet, his heart squeezing painfully 'He _hated_ how Dumbledore wouldn't let him use really nasty forms of torture on students. You'd think he'd be glad; he might get a boss now who'll give him free rein.'

'But surely Professor McGonagall will be Headmistress … if Hogwarts stays open.' Hermione glanced up at the stone castle.

'Not that it makes much difference to us,' sighed Ron.

Harry kept his head down, ignoring them. True to his wish he would appear happy and cheerful, doing nothing to put a damper on the festivities, but that still didn't stop him wishing he wasn't here. He just hoped he could keep that hidden from the others.

Aware that Hermione was watching him closely, he squared his shoulders and held his chin high, ready to fool the best of them. Trailing after Mrs Weasley, Harry rounded the corner and felt his jaw drop.

Before them stood a large archway, entirely covered in white and gold roses. Soft music drifted towards them from a dozen violin-playing gold cherubs drifting lazily over the assembled guests. Above those, a thin layer of crystal-coloured fabric stretched across the temporary pavilion, breaking the mid-afternoon sun shining through it into a million tiny rainbows.

'It's beautiful,' whispered Hermione. Despite it not perhaps being the most macho thing to think, Harry had to agree with her.

'I'll see you later.' Bill accepted a quick kiss on the cheek from his mother before he and Charlie separated from them, turning right to go around the arch and along the outer edge of the congregation.

'Come on, everyone,' said Mrs Weasley to the rest of them. 'We need to get seated.'

Following them through the archway, Harry realised that the roses weren't trained over a supporting structure but just grew upwards, stems and branches entwining in a lattice pattern up and over to join in the centre above their heads. He'd like to see Aunt Petunia's roses do that. Once through the archway, the hot summer heat cooled significantly and Harry realised the fabric above them was actually made of ice. Ron's mother led them up the aisle, thick with a carpet of rose petals, past witches and wizards (many of whom could give Fleur a run for her money beauty-wise), all dressed in exquisitely-tailored robes and gossiping quietly in French, to the empty seats at the front which had been reserved for Bill's family. As their feet crushed the flowers, the most delicious scent wafted up to flood their nostrils with its exquisite perfume. Harry took a deep breath and received a very pleasant surprise. Instead of roses, he smelt treacle tart, a woody smell and the flowery scent which reminded him of Ginny; the rose petals had been steeped in the love potion, _Amormentia_. Feeling that 'acting happy' wouldn't be such an effort after all, Harry sank into a seat next to Ron with a contented sigh and looked around.

The seats on the right-hand side of the aisle housed the Weasley family – aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, most of whom Harry had never even heard of, let alone met. He knew there had been a Great Auntie Muriel and that both Mr and Mrs Weasley had been related to the Blacks, so Tonks was some sort of distant cousin, but he didn't know if they had been only children like himself or not. If they had both come from large families like the one they had produced, there would be an endless number of new names and faces to be introduced to later at the wedding breakfast. He gazed through the sea of people behind him and wondered, briefly, if the accountant had managed an invite.

'The blonde woman with the blue hat and orange robes is Auntie Ella, Dad's sister,' Ron whispered, seeing Harry checking out the gathering. 'She never did have a very good dress sense. And the bloke next to her is her husband –'

'Husband?' Hermione whispered as Harry's jaw dropped. 'He looks young enough to be her son.'

'He's actually older than she is. They've never confirmed it but we think he might be part elf.'

Hermione gazed at him with increased interest. 'Any kids?'

'Why?' Ron narrowed his eyes at her. 'Were you thinking of switching to something better looking than me?'

'What?' No, of course not.' Hermione sounded hurt that Ron would think her capable of such a thing.

'Well, for your information, no, they don't have any kids.'

'Is his wife your dad's only sibling?' Harry drew Ron's attention as Hermione sank back against her seat, pointedly looking anywhere but at her boyfriend.

'Yeah, just Dad and Auntie Ella. Mum's side weren't too big on having kids either,' he continued. 'Only her and her two brothers.'

'Which ones are they?' Harry scanned the congregation for more red heads.

'They're dead,' said Ron as if stating a fact which, Harry supposed, he was. 'They died right before I was born so I never knew them at all.' That explained the lack of sorrow. 'Bill remembers them a bit, I think. That's Uncle Fabian's daughter there,' Ron nodded towards a red-haired woman in her mid-twenties.

'So you've only got the one cousin?' Hermione had apparently gotten ever her fit of the sulks.

'Yeah,' Ron looked out over the crowd. 'Heaps of second and third cousins and stuff, though.'

'Ron,' Harry's stomach had turned as cold as the ice canopy shielding them from the late summer sun, 'did you say your uncle's name was Fabian?'

'Yeah, weird name, I know. It was a toss-up between him and Mum's other brother who had the worst name.'

'Why?' asked Hermione. 'What was your other uncle's name?'

'Gideon.' It was Harry who answered her.

Both Ron and Hermione stared at him. 'How did you know that?' Ron wanted to know.

'Moody showed me a photo of the original Order of the Phoenix a couple of years ago … mainly to show me my mum and dad … but there was a Fabian and Gideon in it too. No one ever told me your mum was a Prewett.' He stared at Ron, numb.

'No one ever told me Mum's brothers were in the Order. Are you saying that they were killed by …' Ron looked like Harry felt.

Harry felt terrible. They were supposed to have left the war at the front gates and now he had brought the bitter sadness of that war right into their very midst.

'Breathe deeply, both of you.'

Harry and Ron stopped gaping at each other long enough to stare at Hermione 'What?'

'Breathe deeply,' she repeated. 'This is a wedding, not a funeral. You're supposed to be _happy_, so breathe deeply. The rush of endorphins from the smell of the Love Potion will _make_ you happy again. So…' She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pure rapture lighting up her face.

Ron frowned sceptically brow at Harry, who shrugged.

'It certainly won't hurt,' he said, taking a breath.

Shrugging back at him, Ron took a breath and visibly relaxed.

Harry was into his third breath when silence fell over them; the cherubs had stopped playing.

The crowd stood and turned towards the arch as lilies tied with large white bows to the end seats lining the aisle began to trumpet a fanfare.

First came Fleur's sister, Gabrielle, not as little as she had been when Harry had fished her out of the lake two and a half years ago, but still not what Harry would call big, being about the same size as a first year. Her dress seemed to be made of a silky fabric, gold in colour, which draped from her shoulders and hugged her slender body, stopping just below her knees, the skirt swinging slightly with each step she took. Her hair was pulled back into a simple knot at the back of her head and, as she passed, Harry could see that it was held in place by a small dark yellow rosebud threaded through the bun at an angle. She certainly didn't have her sister's looks … yet … but give her a few years and, with her Veela blood, she would probably have boys tripping over themselves to get to her, especially if she wore dresses like that.

Harry turned back towards the arch … and felt his heart stop. If Gabrielle was pretty, Ginny was … _gorgeous_. Her hair, which looked like burnished copper in the afternoon light, was pulled back into the same rosebud-struck twist as her fellow bridesmaid. Her dress, which was also the same style as Gabrielle's though ankle-length, definitely sat on her better than it had Gabrielle. Flowing from her shoulders and enveloping her in a waterfall of gold sparkles, it clung to and accentuated every curve of her perfect body, light rippling up and down its length with every step she too. Halfway up the aisle, she glanced across and her eyes met his. Beautiful at the best of times, they were now dazzling, highlighted as they were by the kohl Bill's friend had brought from Egypt. When Hermione had first told them about that stuff, part of Harry had been worried that the effect would be too heavy but, he was pleased to see, only the merest smidgeon had been smeared along the tops of her eyes, reflecting in the lights sparkling in those fathomless depths.

Harry found he was having difficulty breathing and struggled to drag his eyes away from her so he could see if anybody had noticed. The last thing he needed was for someone to realise he still had feelings for Ginny. The whole point of him breaking up with her was to protect her. When this was all over … if he survived … then maybe he would get a chance to stand where Bill was standing now and see Ginny walk towards him, as a bride rather than a bridesmaid. After this was all over …

His face growing hot, he forced himself to look back down the aisle towards the arch as the lilies trumpeted more loudly … and Ginny was suddenly forgotten.

A collective 'Oooh' echoed through the congregation. Even the women, who were usually united in their dislike of Bill's fiancée, seemed to have put aside their jealousies for the afternoon and joined the men in their appreciation of Fleur's unrivalled beauty. All eyes were totally drawn to the bride.

Great Auntie Muriel's tiara perched delicately upon those fair silken tresses, coloured lights twinkling from one end of the goblin-worked stones to the other. More diamonds dripped from her ears, dazzling Harry's eyes with their brilliance. Her silvery blonde hair was pulled back like Gabrielle and Ginny's, and Harry wondered if the rose holding it in place was white to match her dress. The flowers in the bouquet she was carrying were, a dozen roses mixed with Queen Anne's lace and lilies of the valley. Harry grinned to himself as he realised he could name them all; years spent slaving away in Aunt Petunia's garden had done some good, after all.

As Fleur moved closer, Harry was able to get a better view of her dress. Made of the same silky clingy fabric as her two bridesmaids, it shimmered down her slender torso and rippled past her ankles, flowing behind her in a train so light, it seemed to float above the floral carpet, leaving the petals undisturbed in its wake, although the air was once again filled with the scent of the Love Potion's magic.

It wasn't until Fleur reached the waiting Bill and had given her bouquet to Ginny to hold, that Harry noticed her veil. The tiara's band wrapped all the way around her head, resting just above her neck. Her hair was folded over the metal to hide it, ending, not in a rose-studded bun, but a rose. Somehow, Fleur's hair had been shaped like a rose. And from beneath its petals, probably hanging from the ends of the tiara, fell a veil so delicate, Harry could have sworn it was made of cobwebs. As the lilies fell silent, a very faint breeze blew up from the nearby lake and Harry's heart skipped a beat that such beauty would be destroyed, but the threads held.

The ceremony certainly wasn't what Harry was expecting. Celebrated by the same short, tufty-haired wizard who had presided over Dumbledore's funeral (Harry supposed he must be some kind of priest) as well as another man who only spoke French, it was very difficult to follow because both men spoke at the same time. Harry thought it would have been better if each person could only hear the one speaking the language they understood. Fleur spoke her responses and vows in French, Bill in English, so they obviously had no trouble handling the bilingual proceedings and, since they were the only ones who really mattered, Harry supposed he could ignore his confusion and be happy for them. When Charlie gave the rings to the celebrants who then waved their wands over them in a complicated pattern, Harry wondered if Hermione's translation of the runes had been correct. After the bride and groom had placed the rings on each other's fingers, the two wizards performed more spells over Bill and Fleur's joined hands, making fine white flames, almost like St Elmo's fire, wrap around them, binding both Bill and Fleur in an ancient mystical ritual.

Harry heard a sob to his left. Glancing across, he saw Mrs Weasley crying – smiling broadly, but tears steaming down her cheeks, nonetheless.

Suddenly, the lilies burst into another fanfare and everybody started clapping and cheering as Bill and Fleur shared their first kiss as husband and wife. Standing with everybody else, Harry watched as the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle through a shower of petals falling softly from the cherubs above, Gabrielle and Ginny following behind.

'Oh, Arthur,' Mrs Weasley was still crying, 'doesn't she look _beautiful_. And her gown …Oh, I'm so happy.' She sniffed loudly. For someone who claimed to be happy, she was doing a lot of crying. 'Oh, there's Cecile; I really must tell her how lovely it all was.' Tears drying up almost immediately, she left her husband shaking his head slightly in incredulity.

'You can stop gawking, Ron, she's out of sight now.' There was only the very slightest hint of jealousy in Hermione's voice. 'Or were you wanting to ask her to dance again?'

'What?' Ron very slowly dragged his eyes from the shimmering mass of white just visible through the archway.

'Are you lot coming or not?' Mr Weasley raised his eyebrows questioningly; the rest of the guests were leaving.

'Be right there, Mr Weasley.' Harry gave him a half-wave, then noticed Fred and George grinning at him, mischief all over their faces. 'What? We're coming.'

'So's Christmas.'

'Budge up there, Ron.'

The twins gave Ron what probably would have been a friendly nudge but, because there were two of them, it turned out to be a bit harder, making him trip over the end seat and land face first in the rose petals. Good-humoured laughter from the few guests who still hadn't made it through the arch greeted him as he clambered to his feet, face bright red and petals sticking all down the front of his robes. Luckily, Percy had already followed Mr Weasley out into the bright sunshine or Ron's embarrassment would have been a lot worse. Unluckily, his mother was still chatting to Madame Delacour and had seen him fall. She descended upon her youngest son, her face turning as red as Ron's.

'You haven't been fighting, have you?' She scowled as she began beating the petals away, more fragrance filling the air.

'It wasn't my fault.' Ron tried to pull away. 'They pushed me.' He jabbed a finger in his brothers' direction.

Mrs Weasley rounded on the twins. 'I might have known you two would find some way to ruin everything for Bill.'

'They didn't do it on purpose, Mrs Weasley,' Hermione explained. 'Ron was too busy getting all hot and bothered over Fleur to get out of their way.' Harry had a feeling she hadn't quite forgiven Ron for allowing himself to be affected by Fleur so hard.

'What's holding you lot up?' Mr Weasley poked his head back through the archway. 'The photographer is –' He broke off, staring from Fred, George, Harry and Hermione, to his wife tightly gripping Ron's arm, to Fleur's mother looking horrified that her daughter's new family could be so embarrassing and uncouth.

Mrs Weasley tugged Ron's arm a little harder, starting to drag him towards her husband. '_Move!_' she hissed over her shoulder, fiery sparks in her eyes.

'It's a pity I haven't got my wand with me,' said Hermione quietly as they followed the others down the aisle. 'Mrs Weasley could do with a Cheering Charm.'

Harry heard Fred mutter something just behind him as they passed under the rose arch and when they stepped out into the sunshine, Mrs Weasley had let go of Ron and both she and Madame Delacour were smiling quite cheerfully, looking as though nothing had happened at all to spoil the perfect day. Harry and Hermione glanced at Fred, who gave them a quick wink as he stowed his wand back inside his robes.

Everybody was milling around in groups, accepting glasses of French champagne from floating trays and watching as the photographer snapped permanent memories of the happy couple. Harry and Hermione grinned when it was time for the shots of the bride, groom and groom's family. Ron looked less than pleased being made to stand next to Percy, though Harry would have thought he would be glad that, since he was taller than the twins, he got to stand behind them, making it impossible for them to make rabbit ears behind his head. The photographer was about to start snapping when Mrs Weasley suddenly cried out 'Wait!' and began waving frantically.

'Harry, come over here, you need to be in this one, too.'

Harry took a step back. 'Er … Mrs Weasley … I'm not …'

'Come on; you're family.'

'But,' Harry wished she would stop waving at him; everybody was staring. 'I'm not your son –'

'You're as good as. Isn't he, everybody?' She enlisted the opinions of the other Weasleys who, with the exception of Percy, nodded enthusiastically, beckoning him forwards.

'Arry, pleeze, it would make Bill and I very 'appy that you would be part of theeze family.' Fleur smiled and Harry found it very difficult not to immediately do as requested.

'Go on, Harry'

Harry turned to see Hermione grinning at him as well. She gave him a little push.

'Aren't you coming too?'

'I've been in plenty of family photos. You haven't. So …' she nodded towards her boyfriend's family, '… stop holding things up. I'm hungry.'

Harry was pretty sure he should be feeling a lot guiltier than he was as he squeezed himself in between Ron and Percy. After all, wasn't he somehow betraying his dead parents? But as the photographer readjusted his lens, lining up all of Harry's surrogate family, and Fred and George's confiscated fireworks mysteriously began bursting in the background, he couldn't help joining them in grinning from ear to ear.

As soon as the photographer had finished with them, Harry, Ron, Fred and George started to slowly make their way up to the school. Hermione and Mrs Weasley hovered down on the lawn, watching as more photos were taken of the bridal party with the lake as a backdrop (Fred and George's fireworks exploding behind them). Mr Weasley had started to take a few steps towards the castle as well, but his wife had grabbed his hand and refused to let him go in to the wedding breakfast just yet. And Percy …

'Where's Percy going?' asked Harry. 'And what's Dawlish doing here?'

The others turned to look towards the school gates. 'Mum won't be too thrilled that Percy's walking out on Bill's wedding.' George sounded like his own sentiment was the exact opposite.

'You don't suppose something's happened, do you?' Fred glanced towards his father, a worried look on his face.

'If it has, the Ministry will make sure they stuff it up ten times worse,' said Ron as he continued up the steps, food obviously a much higher priority than his brother's truancy. And Harry didn't really blame him as the smells and gaiety of an imminent party greeted them as they reached the front doors, promising a delicious feast, raucous laughter and exhaustive dancing.

_x_

Harry was so busy grinning at Ron's attempts at dancing with Hermione that it took him a moment to realise he was no longer alone. McGonagall had left the main table and was now standing beside him wearing a slightly grim look.

Harry's face must have reflected his feeling that he had somehow done something wrong. 'It's all right, Harry,' she reassured him. 'I just noticed that you weren't really busy doing anything right now, and wondered if I might have a word in my office.'

Harry stared at her in confusion. 'Er...'

He glanced back towards the dancing couples, but McGonagall had already taken his lack of immediate refusal as agreement, and began dragging him towards the Entrance Hall.

Five minutes later, he found himself in Dumbledore's old office, (Harry had been rather surprised at McGonagall's choice of password – 'Albus' – to gain access to the spiralling staircase leading up to her office), surrounded by the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses. Still not certain why he was here, he looked around as McGonagall settled herself behind her desk.

The room had changed. All of Dumbledore's gadgets and gizmos were gone, along with Fawkes's perch. It now bore the unmistakeable mark of Hogwarts' present headmistress. Tartan curtains hung at the windows, several tins of shortbread were stored in a glass-fronted cabinet along with a bottle of scotch and some glasses, and three straight-backed wooden chairs were lined up against the wall.

'Please take a seat, Harry.' McGonagall indicated the plain chair in front of the desk.

Reluctantly, he slowly lowered himself onto the proffered seat. The last time he had been sitting here facing her, Dumbledore had just died, and McGonagall had been most annoyed when he refused to tell her why he and the headmaster had been absent from the school that evening. If she was going to take up where she had left off? Eyeing her warily, he waited.

'Comfortable, Harry?' She smiled at him.

He nodded, wishing she wouldn't stare at him like they were best friends. He liked her – she certainly hadn't been his least favourite teacher – but he doubted they would ever have the same relationship he had had with Dumbledore. His eyes flicked to the picture hanging behind McGonagall. Dumbledore's portrait was awake this time, watching him with a twinkle in his eyes and a slight smile, as if he knew a secret which he thought Harry would enjoy.

With a slight cough, McGonagall dragged Harry's attention back to her. 'The reason I wanted to speak with you, Harry, is that I wanted to ask a favour. As you are aware, our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher … _resigned_ –' she tensed slightly, '– recently, leaving the position vacant yet again. I am also certain you are aware that, due to its history of high turnover, we have often had difficulty finding suitable candidates.'

Harry already knew this, having had six different teachers in as many years, and only one whom he would consider adequate – Professor Lupin. He also knew why no teacher had lasted more than a year; people said that the job was jinxed, and they were right. Voldemort himself had laid a curse upon it after Dumbledore had denied him the job years ago.

McGonagall continued. 'Now, we have been able to find a teacher … after a fashion: Stanwick Fulstrum. He works in the Auror Office, and will be dividing his time between Hogwarts and the Ministry. As such, he can only spare a few hours a week, so will be teaching only the sixth and seventh-year students. But we still need someone to teach the younger years.' She looked pointedly at Harry. 'That's where you come in.'

Harry blinked. _'Me?'_ he squeaked, then coughed to bring his voice back down several octaves. 'But I'm not a teacher. I haven't even done my NEWTS.'

'I don't believe that should be a problem. According to Professor Dumbledore, you did an excellent job teaching the group known as "Dumbledore's Army" two years ago. Not only were you able to teach students older than yourself skills they hadn't yet learnt, but you even managed to get Longbottom to start to do his Auror father proud. Also, you possess quite sufficient natural talent in Defence; you have proved that numerous times through you exploits over the past six years. And your own N.E.W.T studies won't be a problem. The classes you are unable to attend because of your teaching commitments will be done after hours in one-on-one tutorials.

'So, do you accept, Harry?' McGonagall sat watching him expectantly. Harry found it difficult not to fidget. He couldn't believe what she was asking.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to burst her bubble. 'I'm not coming back to Hogwarts, Professor.'

She frowned slightly. 'But I thought it was your wish to be an Auror. You will need to sit your N.E.W.T. exams if you are to join that profession.'

'I know. But I don't think I would enjoy working for the Ministry. It would mean Scrimgeour would win because it would look like I was on his side or something. And I'm not!' He folded his arms and adopted an obstinate stance. Several of the portraits called out their opinion of the Minister, but under their voices, Harry thought he heard Sirius's ancestor, Phineus Nigellus, pass comment about Harry's insubordination towards his elders.

McGonagall regarded him a moment. 'So what do you plan to do with you life?'

He shrugged. 'I'll do what I have to.'

She sat staring at him for several minutes. 'You can't face him alone, you know.' Harry just sat there. 'Here at Hogwarts, you have friends, as well as access to several members of the Order of the Phoenix. We're all on the same quest. If you would just tell me what you were up to with Professor Dumbledore, I might be able to tell you what to do nex –'

'Stop!' Harry stood, angry. 'I told you weeks ago that Dumbledore didn't want me to tell anyone, so don't even try to change his order.' (Two bright spots showed on McGonagall's cheeks as she stared at him, surprised by this outburst.) 'And that's my final word on the subject.' And wheeling, he marched from the room.

As he slammed the door behind him, he heard Dumbledore's portrait say, 'I told you he was my man through and through.'

_x_

'Harry!' Ron grabbed his arm as he went rushing past, pulling him up. 'Where did you disappear –' He stopped as he saw the look on Harry's face. 'What happened to you?'

Harry just stared at him, trying to steady his breathing. After all, it wasn't Ron he was mad at.

Over by the drinks table, he could see Hermione speaking to Lupin and Tonks. Tonks turned slightly to look at Ron and spotted Harry. Her face lit up and she quickly brought his presence to Hermione and Lupin's attention. All three of them began to wend their way around the dance floor towards the boys.

Once they successfully navigated their way to Harry and Ron, Lupin immediately noticed that something was wrong. 'Are you all right, Harry?' he asked quietly.

Not trusting his voice, Harry just nodded.

Lupin, however, wasn't fooled. 'No, you're not.' He waved at the others. 'Would you all mind waiting here? And you,' he grabbed Harry's arm, steering him towards the door, 'come with me. Let's find somewhere quiet where we can talk.' Before Harry could object, he once more found himself being commandeered against his will.

To his surprise, Lupin led him across the Entrance Hall and down the stairs leading down to the Potions lab. 'Why are you taking me to the dungeons?' he wanted to know.

'Because it's one place I _know_ nobody will think to look for us,' Lupin replied as he opened the door to the one room Harry hated more than any other in the castle – Snape's old office. He then held Harry back and waved his wand at the room.

Harry was confused, until a black vapour suddenly began to fill the air.

'Hold your nose and keep your mouth closed,' Lupin instructed. Tossing a handful of small petals into the office, he stood back and waited.

Harry could feel his face turning blue and wondered how much longer he could last before he fainted, when Lupin exhaled quietly.

'It should be safe now,' he said as he guided Harry inside. At Harry's confused look, he explained. 'Dandelion. Very good at absorbing toxins.'

'How did you know Snape's security?'

'It seemed logical given his specialities.'

'Oh,' was all Harry could think to say.

'Now,' Lupin settled himself on the edge of Snape's desk and indicated for Harry to take the seat. 'What happened before to get you so upset?'

Harry sat on the very edge of the chair, unwilling to sit back any further in case it tried to grab hold of him, and regarded the man before him. Yes, he felt he could trust Lupin not to laugh at him. 'McGonagall offered me a job,' he said.

Lupin's expression closed slightly. 'Doing what?'

'Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to the first five years. Apparently the bloke she's hired as the real teacher is an Auror and can only work a few hours a week.'

'Who's the Auror?'

'Stanwick Fulstrum.'

Lupin tensed.

'Do you know him?' asked Harry.

Lupin shook his head. 'Only from what Dora has told me. He sounds like a really arrogant, nasty –' He pulled himself up before he could complete the thought but Harry could just imagine Tonks's description. 'He's the one who arrested Stan Shunpike.'

Harry felt a sudden dislike for the man, despite having never met him. 'Then I'm glad I turned McGonagall down, if it meant working with someone like that.'

'You turned her down?' Lupin sounded surprised.

'You think I should have accepted?'

'I think you should have kept your options open by telling her you wanted some time to consider the offer. In other words, don't burn all your bridges,' he said quietly. 'Now, what's the real reason you were so angry?'

Harry looked up sharply.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. 'Professor McGonagall must have done more than just offer you a job. You were almost set to explode upstairs. Why?' He watched Harry, waiting.

Feeling slightly stunned that Lupin could read him so well, Harry slumped back into the chair (which did _not_ try to strangle him).'She tried to trick me into telling her what Dumbledore and I were up to the night he ... that night.'

'And you didn't wish to tell her?'

'Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone and he didn't tell me not to stick to that if he died.' Harry shrugged. 'McGonagall got annoyed that night when I told her that. So she tried a more subtle approach just before.' He glared at Lupin. 'Why? Do you think I'm being stubborn or selfish obeying Dumbledore?'

'No, Harry,' Lupin replied. 'If Dumbledore told you to keep a secret, then you should abide by his wishes. I imagine - and this is only a guess - that it had something to do with destroying Voldemort. But it doesn't hurt to remember that a problem shared is a problem halved. And you do have many friends who want to help you come through this problem as unscathed as possible.'

Harry couldn't believe it. 'Not you, too,' he growled.

'No, Harry,' Lupin stopped him. 'You and you alone, must decide if and when you will share your secret. And with whom,' he added.

'Now,' he continued, 'how about an obvious change of subject. I understand from Hermione that you don't wish to return here for your final year.'

'No.' Harry felt his anger and frustration starting to subside. 'There are too many bad memories here. I wasn't even happy to come here today,' he sighed.

'I can understand that,' Lupin nodded thoughtfully. 'So, what are you plans for the future? Uh, uh, uh.' He raised a hand in defence as Harry tensed. 'I'm not trying to interfere or impose my authority. I just thought you might appreciate having an ally who has access to information concerning the Order. After all, would I be wrong assuming you would wish to work as separately from them as possible?' Harry shook his head. 'Then you need someone who can keep you abreast of the plans and movements of Order members, so you can make certain your paths cross as little as possible. And secrets are safe with me,' he added.

Harry didn't know what to say to this.

'Don't decide anything yet. Just think about what I've said, perhaps even discuss it with Ron and Hermione to get some other opinions. But ultimately, it must be _your_ decision and yours alone.'

As silence fell between them, he smiled and jerked his head towards the ceiling. 'I think it's time we rejoined the others, don't you?'

_x_

The ceiling of the Great Hall had long since darkened, its stars twinkling brightly, when Harry saw McGonagall corner Lupin. She had steered clear of Harry after he had returned upstairs, possibly aware that she would not have helped matters had she confronted him again and could even have made things worse. So when she gave Lupin something and he promptly made a beeline for Harry, every shackle rose again.

'I thought you were on my side,' said Harry, an accusatory tone in his voice.

'I am.' Lupin dropped something onto the table in front of Harry.

It was a key.

Harry frowned up at Lupin. 'What's that for?'

'Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.' Lupin spoke quietly, glancing around to make sure nobody could hear.

'What?'

'McGonagall said you left before she had a chance to speak to you about your inheritances. _Both_ of them.'

'Both?'

Lupin nodded. 'Dumbledore left you a few things. And then there is the matter of Sirius's house.'

'What did Dumbledore leave me?'

'McGonagall will show you presently.' Lupin scratched his nose. 'As for Grimmauld Place –'

'The Order can keep using it as Headquarters,' said Harry quickly.

'That's very generous,' Lupin commented. 'However, it's impossible for them to do that yet.'

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

'Because you need to take possession.'

'What?'

'The legal owner – you – once they are of legal age – which you are – must spend three days and nights in the house before the first full moon after your birthday to legally take possession.'

'Three days and nights?' Harry stared at Lupin, horrified.

'Thirty-six hours … and you're not allowed to leave during that time.' Lupin's expression was midway between sympathy and apology.

Harry glanced down at the key. Three days locked inside Headquarters – what had he done to deserve that?

'Is he allowed to have company?'

Harry jumped; he hadn't noticed Ron and Hermione approaching.

'Yes,' Lupin answered Hermione's question.

'Do we have to be locked in, too?' Ron didn't seem as keen as Hermione.

'No,' Lupin smiled at Ron's nervousness. 'Only Harry has to be confined to the premises. He is permitted visitors over the course of his stay, but my advice would be to keep it to a minimum. That way, his presence won't be noticed too easily.'

'So, when do we leave?' asked Hermione eagerly.

'You can't just up and leave in the middle of my brother's wedding!' Ron cried indignantly.

'Other people are,' Hermione pointed out.

Harry glanced around the Great Hall. The reception had been winding down for some time, pretty much since Bill and Fleur had left for their honeymoon (McGonagall had turned her wedding gift – two silver goblets – into Portkeys); most of the food and dishes had been cleared away, and even the band was packing up. He glanced up at Lupin.

'How soon do I have to go there?'

'As soon as you want,' Lupin replied. 'The sooner you start, the sooner the three days will be over.'

Harry glanced down at the key again. 'What happens if I don't take possession?'

'Then your inheritance will pass to the nearest Black descendant. _All_ of your inheritance.' Lupin watched Harry closely. 'Do you want that to happen?'

'No,' Harry mumbled, scowling. How could such a happy day end up so –

BANG!

Harry jumped again. Unnoticed, McGonagall had snuck up on them and placed an ancient stone basin heavily onto the table in front of Harry. Several small sealed bottles and a ring were rattling around the bottom.

'Why have you got Dumbledore's Pensieve?'

'Actually, Potter,' McGonagall corrected him, 'it is _your_ Pensieve now; as are those.' She pointed to the Pensieve's contents, a rare smile on her face. Harry gaped up at her. 'Albus left very specific instructions: these items were to be given to you, with the message, "Use them well." I trust you know what he was implying?' She gazed at him curiously.

Harry looked down at the Pensieve, his mind racing. What were the memories in the bottles? Were they things Dumbledore had intended to show him after they had returned from the cave, but never got the chance because he had been killed? Were they clues about where the other Horcruxes were? Excitement started to bubble deep in Harry's stomach. A few moments ago, he had been intending to delay his stay at Headquarters until the last possible moment. Now, he couldn't wait for the three days to be up so he could concentrate properly on the important matters – finding the Horcruxes and destroying Voldemort.

Harry picked up the ring and examined it. It was fairly simple, no gold filigree work or engraving. Just a single large ruby set in a claw clasp. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. Shrugging slightly, he slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his left hand. It fitted quite comfortably, almost as though it had been especially made for him.

'I trust you explained about Headquarters, Professor.' McGonagall addressed Lupin, who nodded.

'Harry was just deciding when he was going to begin his occupation.'

'Now!'

McGonagall, Lupin, Ron and Hermione all looked at Harry.

'I think Mum might have something to say about that.'

'What would I have something to say about?' Mrs Weasley's curiosity had drawn her from the other side of the Hall.

'Harry needs to spend three days at Grimmauld Place in order to inherit, Molly,' McGonagall explained.

'When?' Mrs Weasley gazed at Harry.

'Now.' Harry was still eyeing the Pensieve.

Mrs Weasley glanced around the group, then over towards her husband. 'Just give me a minute; I'll just tell Arthur where we're going, then we can leave.' She turned to bustle back across the room.

'Without you, Mrs Weasley,' said Harry firmly, finally looking up from the Pensieve. Ron and Hermione started edging away from him, as if afraid they would be too near the explosion.

McGonagall looked down at Harry. 'Why don't you want Molly there, Potter?'

'Who'll look after you?' Mrs Weasley seemed to find the idea that she be excluded ridiculous.

'That's why,' said Harry. 'I'm not a child; I don't need looking after. Whether you like it or not, I'm legally an adult now.'

'But –'

'No buts, Mrs Weasley. I'm going to take possession of Sirius's house on _my_ terms, whether you like it or not, or not at all and the house, Kreacher and all of Sirius's gold can go to Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Mrs Weasley looked like a kettle filling up with boiling water. 'Arthur.' She waved her hand wildly to get her husband to join them. 'Arthur, tell Harry to stop acting like a child and let me look after him while he stays at Grimmauld Place.'

Poor Mr Weasley didn't know what he had walked into the middle of. He gazed around the group, confused, as Lupin spoke up.

'Molly,' (Mrs Weasley span around, a hopeful expression on her face, thinking she had an ally), 'you can't force yourself on Harry. One, he is of age and, two, you're not his mother.'

'I'm as good as –'

''It makes no difference,' Lupin sighed. 'We must abide by Harry's wishes in this matter or things could go dangerously wrong.'

'If you don't do as I say, Mrs Weasley,' said Harry, 'I'll go to Professor Flitwick right now and have him perform a Fidelius Charm, making me Secret Keeper for number twelve, Grimmauld Place so you can't turn up. You won't be able to find it.'

Mrs Weasley looked almost like Harry had slapped her across the face. 'Arthur … Arthur …'

Mr Weasley grabbed his wife's arm and firmly steered her to the other end of the Great Hall.

'Do you really think that was wise, Potter?' McGonagall watched them go.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Whether she likes it or not, I'm a man now, capable of making my own decisions. And I've made a decision about this. The sooner I get there, the sooner the three days will be up.' He glanced at Ron and Hermione. 'Are you still with me?'

Ron was staring at Harry, clearly impressed. 'What do you think?'

Harry gathered up the Pensieve and key. 'Then let's get going before your mum can stop us.'

They were halfway to the gate when Lupin caught up. 'Sorry about that,' he apologised. 'McGonagall wanted to speak to me about a mission for the Order.'

'Are you coming too, Professor?' Hermione sounded quite happy that a teacher was going to spend three solid days with them.

'Only as far as Diagon Alley; our paths will separate there. But first I need to explain to Harry how that key works. Keep moving,' he ordered because Harry had stopped and turned towards him.

'When you get to Grimmauld Place, you will notice that there isn't a keyhole. You will need to prick your finger, smear blood over the head of the key, then touch the knocker's mouth with it. The keyhole will then appear. After you've completed your three days, you won't need the key anymore. All you'll have to do to get in will be to touch the door and the house will open for its master.'

'So does there always have to be someone inside the house to let non-masters in?' Hermione asked as they reached the school's gateway.

'House-elves do have their uses,' Ron muttered (Hermione's eyes flashed) as Lupin said, 'Once the three days are up; before that, you need the key.'

'But if I'm stuck inside for three days, how am I supposed to use the key?' Harry was confused.

'You may pass the key to someone else,' Lupin explained, 'but first, you will both need to touch the key with your wands and say the incantation, _"Sesalm Portent_".' They had now exited the school grounds. 'Outside Florean Fortescue's should do it. Three D's,' he added with a wink, and turned.

'Why do magical forms of transport have to be such unpleasant experiences?' Harry tried to rub the squashed feeling out of his ears. 'Given a choice of Floo Powder, Portkeys and Apparition, I'll take broomsticks any day.'

Lupin chuckled softly. 'You'll get used to it, I promise.' He glanced a moment at the boarded windows which had once been Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, then led them along the lamplit street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Once in Muggle London, Lupin checked that the three of them had enough Muggle money to get themselves onto the Underground, then headed back towards the Cauldron, reminding them that he would take them to Godric's Hollow in three days.


	7. Chapter 7: Inherent Responsibility

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER SEVEN –**

**Inherent Responsibility**

As Harry, Ron and Hermione walked around the small square which was Grimmauld Place, Harry felt his chest tightening. The houses surrounding the patch of unkempt grass were still grimy, windows were still broken, paint peeling and rubbish bulging forth as if from open wounds.

Reaching the bottom of the worn stone steps leading up to number twelve, Harry gazed up at the battered-looking black door. In the faint light from the streetlamps, the serpent-shaped silver doorknocker glittered dully.

'Are you two ready?' Harry glanced around at Ron and Hermione. They nodded back at him.

It was only after Harry had fished the key out of his pocket that he realised he didn't have anything to prick his finger with. 'Er …'

'Wait here.' Hermione walked over to the house next door and began rummaging amongst one of the many bin-bags just inside its broken gate. She came back a moment later carrying an empty soup tin. 'Can I borrow your wand?' she asked Harry, then pointed it at the tin and said, _'Scourgify.'_

'Use that.' She handed Harry's wand and the now sparkling-clean tin to him, pointing to the jagged edge where the lid had been cut away.

Harry pocketed his wand, then ran his finger along the sharp metal. Smearing blood onto the head of the key, he then pointed it against the snake's mouth, which promptly swallowed the head, its lips closing around the shaft. From the other side of the door, they heard loud, metallic clicks and a chain clattering, then the door swung inwards, allowing them to enter.

It was only after the door swung closed behind them, bolts clicking back into place, that it hit them. A smell, somewhere between rotting flesh and a broken sewer, assaulted their nostrils. Ron promptly lost control, spraying most of what he had eaten at the wedding feast over the threadbare carpet. Harry clamped one hand over his mouth as he fumbled for his wand with the other, but jumped when he felt other hands patting the waistband of his trousers.

A moment later, Hermione muttered _'Lumos,'_ (Harry suspected she hadn't opened her lips very much), and then three buckets appeared in the faint light glowing from the end of Harry's wand, spinning slightly in midair before floating to each of them. Hermione then pointed the wand towards the end of the long hallway and the kitchen door slammed shut with a bang. A moment later, the smell in the hallway lessened enough that Harry felt he could move without throwing up every other step and began pounding his way up the stairs, Ron vomiting into his bucket behind him and Hermione bringing up the rear.

Reaching the safety of the drawing room, Harry slumped against the door, bucket pressed tight against his chest.

'What was I thinking?' he groaned, fighting to keep his stomach down. 'If Bellatrix Lestrange wants this place, she can have it.'

Hermione threw him a panicked look over the top of her own bucket. 'But you can't leave now.' She sounded positively terrified. 'The house has locked you in. You can't leave for three days.'

'Shut up, Hermione!' Ron groaned from the depths of his bucket. He pulled his head up and gazed blearily at Harry. 'So what do we do now?'

Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the sight of Ron diving headfirst into his bucket again. 'Stay, I guess. You two can go if you want to,' he offered. 'I'll understand.'

'What?' Ron was very green by now. 'Go back through _that_?' He turned greener at the thought.

'It should be fine by morning.' Hermione was rubbing her stomach. 'I shut the kitchen door and cleaned up your vomit.'

'And what do we do about that lot?' Harry jerked his head back over his shoulder. At the sound of Ron vomiting downstairs, the portraits lining the hall, including Sirius's mother, had woken and begun screaming insults to the air around them. They were still shrieking in the background, their voices becoming shriller by the minute.

'Let them go for it,' suggested Hermione. 'With any luck, their throats will be so sore by morning, they'll be hoarse.'

Harry wasn't sure it was possible for a magical portrait to go hoarse.

'But what do we do tonight?' Ron pressed.

'Find out if our old rooms are still OK, then get some sleep. We can start cleaning this place up tomorrow.

Ron's grip slackened on his bucket. 'Why do we need to clean the house? Just Mum and Dad's old room should do. It's even got a bathroom attached. We can hang out there and magic up anything we need.'

'Like food?' Harry's words sent Ron diving for his bucket again.

Hermione looked scandalised at the thought of being confined to two rooms. 'But we may as well clean the whole house. Now Harry's left the Dursleys', he'll need somewhere to live. Won't you, Harry?'

Harry glanced across at the tapestry detailing the Black family tree, remembering Sirius's brooding presence.

'I'd rather not be here at all.'

After spending the night in a hastily-cleaned second-floor bedroom, Hermione had started them cleaning Mr and Mrs Weasley's old room. As they filled more buckets with dust, cobwebs and spiders (Ron had been noticeably absent), Harry suspected it was only a compromise and Ron hadn't really won their argument; Hermione still fully intended to continue with the rest of the house once these two rooms were done. Sure enough, just as Ron walked back in with a pile of moth-eaten blankets, Hermione started allocating chores for the remainder of the house, making Ron throw the blankets at her in disgust.

They had completed the bathroom and started the drawing room (Harry and Ron were trying to work the kinks out of their backs) when a loud, clanging bell sounded through the house. Unfortunately, the portraits hadn't given themselves sore throats the night before and demonstrated this by screaming louder than ever, drowning out the doorbell. Peering down from the window, Harry grinned as he spotted Fred and George standing on the front steps.

'It's OK,' he assured the others. 'It's just your brothers.'

'Which ones?' Ron came over to the window as Hermione went to let them in. 'They'd better not have brought Mum with them.'

A few moments later, Fred and George followed Hermione into the drawing room, carrying several bags.

'Nice to see Sirius's mum is still in fine voice.' George commented as he dumped the bags into a chair. 'Who did what downstairs?'

'We don't know yet.' Harry noted that downstairs was silent again and assumed the twins had managed to pull Mrs Black's curtains back over the portrait.

'What's that?' Ron nodded towards the bags.

'Change of clothes and–,' Fred waved his hands with a flourish, '– food. Mum knew there wouldn't be anything decent left in the house – I mean, let's face it, no one's been near the place in a year – and she didn't want you lot starving so … Hey, don't complain,' he said as Ron looked decidedly unhappy that he was still being mothered. 'It was either this, or Mum would be here herself. Dad's doing his best keeping her at home for the moment, but he'll be back at work tomorrow.'

'Can't you two do something to keep her busy?' asked Ron. 'You must have made a fair bit of money by now; can't you – I don't know – say she's won a trip to the other side of the world and she has to leave, like, right now? You could afford to pay for that, couldn't you?'

Fred and George exchanged looks.

'And what's in it for us?' asked George.

'What?'

'Yeah,' Fred circled his brother, eyeing him malevolently. 'You want us to part with hard-earned profits to keep Mum off your back for you. What are you prepared to do to repay the favour?'

'It's Harry you'd be doing the favour for!'

Harry raised his hands protestingly. 'Don't look at me,' he laughed as the twins did just that. 'This is Ron's idea.'

'Thanks!' Ron scowled as he rummaged amongst the bags his brothers had brought, trying to ignore Fred and George's evil grins.

'Well, it was your idea, Ron.' Hermione had been leaning against the tapestry on the far side of the room, shaking with silent laughter as she watched the scene unfold before her. Ron tossed a bag at her in disgust, but she ducked and it hit the tapestry instead, spattering its contents (mashed potato) over the gold threads detailing Sirius's lineage.

'Good one, Ron!' Hermione glared from the damage to her boyfriend. 'How are we supposed to get that clean? We can't take it down!'

Ron fired up immediately. '_You're_ the idiot who wanted to clean the whole house; we just wanted to do our bedroom and ensuite! It's not like Harry wants to keep the place!'

'Why don't you want to keep it?' Fred and George sidled over to the window where Harry was grinning, watching the proceedings.

Harry felt his good humour darken considerably. 'Just … this house … the feel about it … memories … old ghosts …' He shrugged. 'I dunno, it's just …' He tried to find words to describe how he felt, but came up empty.

Fred and George exchanged glances.

'Wise decision.' Fred donned an approving look. Harry looked up, surprised.

'Putting a house like this on the market …'

'Bound to fetch an excellent price.'

'After all, it's a super location.' George glanced out the window at the neighbouring houses with their peeling paint and overflowing bin-bags facing the overgrown square.

'Solidly built – '

'Excellent protective wards –'

'Numerous comfortable, well-appointed rooms –'

'Long, noble history –'

'Perfect B and B for the discerning witch or wizard of taste –'

'Desiring a London port-of-call a cut above the Leaky Cauldron.'

'You could easily sell a house like this to a service-committed investor with Galleons to spend.'

'Name your price.'

Harry felt like he'd been hit by a speeding centaur. 'What? Are you two making me an offer?' The twins' faces split in identical grins.

'We might,' said George.

'You just need to get rid of the dark atmosphere.'

Getting rid of the dark atmosphere turned out to be almost too tall an order. Just like two years before, the house was putting up a very good fight, and even though Kreacher was no longer around to support it in its efforts, it seemed to somehow sense that Harry wasn't a Black – by name or nature – and shut itself down against him. Curtains refused to open to let in light, items mysteriously returned themselves to shelves and, most annoying, none of the bathroom doors would open for five hours after they finished lunch on the first day.

There was also some disagreement as to _how _the house should be cleaned.

Hermione wanted to start at the top and work their way down, magically sealing each room and floor as they finished so their work couldn't be undone while they were working elsewhere. Ron still preferred to confine themselves to the bedroom and ensuite, but if they had to do the whole house, he was all for throwing everything out – furniture, rugs, wallpaper – basically rip out everything until the house was little more than its frame – then start redecorating from scratch using Harry's very immense fortune.

Harry still wasn't completely certain what he wanted to do with the house but the B and B seemed as good an idea as anything to be going on with (and cleaning the entire house was certainly a step in the right direction); he just didn't think slowly forcing themselves down to the kitchen was the way to do it. He felt the kitchen would be better dealt with sooner rather than later. Hermione insisted on doing it first then, and Ron threatened to throw up at the thought (that was when they discovered the house's unco-operative attitude regarding the bathrooms). In the end, Harry decided that they should work on whichever room grabbed his fancy, then keep the completed rooms magically sealed except when they were going in or out. Since they had already started the drawing room, they may as well keep at it. As it was Harry's house, his decision stood.

'How are we going to get this stupid thing down?' Ron screwed his nose up at the potato stain drying on the tapestry.

'No idea,' Harry looked up from his inspection of a bundle of papers which had been wedged in a crevice in the writing desk. (So far he had found the deed to the house and Sirius's birth certificate.) He wandered over to the tapestry and grabbed a fistful of cloth, tugging hard but with no success. The tapestry remained firmly attached to the wall, mocking them.

'Maybe if we threaten it with fire?'

'Knowing our luck, the whole house would burn down,' said Ron in disgust.

And that would be a bad thing? Harry thought.

'This wall would certainly burn down at … least …' Hermione gazed at the wall with renewed interest. Much to Harry and Ron's confusion, she began tapping the wall at the end of the tapestry. On the third tap she grinned.

'Are we allowed to know what you're doing or is it a secret between you and the house?' Ron asked.

'This is the outer wall, right?'

'Yeah, so?'

'It's not double brick.' Hermione's enthusiasm would be contagious if they knew what they were supposed to be enthusiastic about.

'So …' Hermione threw Ron a look which plainly said she couldn't believe he was being so thick, '… we should be able to remove the inside wall.'

'What, as one piece?' Ron looked like he thought she had lost her mind.

'What if it still won't come away?' Harry ran an eye along the length of the wall.

'Then we cut the studding out too. We'll need props though, if we're going to do that, to stop the next floor collapsing on top of us. But … we should be able to finally get the tapestry down. That is, if you want to.'

'Why wouldn't Harry want to get rid of it?'

'Because it's a link to Sirius and his family.' said Hermione.

'And I want a link to Sirius's family, why?' Harry eyed Hermione warily.

'You might want to get to know them. Not the bad ones, of course.' Hermione rushed on when both boys' jaws dropped in horror. 'Just the good ones, like Tonks.'

'Except that all the good ones have been burnt off.' Harry pointed towards the small black marks dotted randomly over the fabric.

'But there are plenty of other names around them to give you somewhere to start to fill in the blanks.'

'What, you want Harry to rock up to someone like Malfoy's mum and ask, "Please, can you tell me the name of your good sister who got her name burnt off your auntie's tapestry?' Ron didn't make an attempt not to laugh at that thought.

'No,' Hermione sounded slight hurt. 'But he could ask Kreacher.'

Now Ron looked really scared. 'You're encouraging Harry to enforce the master-house-elf bond? Are you feeling OK? What happened to SPEW?'

'It's not SPEW, Ron.' Hermione was almost in tears.

But Harry wasn't listening. Giving up on the tapestry, he had gone back to the papers.

'Er …. you two …'

Ron and Hermione broke off their argument at the excited tone in Harry's voice.

'You might want to check this out.'

Curiosity keeping them from each other's throats, Ron and Hermione joined Harry and stared at what he was holding up.

Under the words _Birth Certificate, _almost mocking them, was the full name of Sirius's younger brother:

_Regulus Alphard Black._

All three of them stared at the name, stunned.

'It couldn't be … could it?' Ron glanced at Harry.

'The initials match,' Hermione pointed out.

'And it fits.' Harry pointed to the tapestry.

'How?' argued Ron. 'Whoever nicked the locket was no friend of … I mean, they said in that note that they were going to destroy it so You-Know-Who can be destroyed. Sirius's brother was a Death Eater –'

'Who got cold feet,' said Harry, tracing Regulus's name with his finger. 'So he didn't consider Voldemort a friend anymore. Plus, the person who wrote the note called Voldemort "Dark Lord" and only Death Eaters call him that, so whoever switched the locket had been a Death Eater at some point.'

'But Sirius said his brother was killed by Death Eaters because he tried to back out,' argued Ron, 'not because he nicked anything. Why would Sirius say that if it wasn't true?'

Harry shook his head slowly. 'I don't know. I don't know what to think anymore.'

'It doesn't really matter why Regulus died,' said Hermione. 'What matters is whether he managed to destroy the locket before he was killed. But –' she clapped both boys on the shoulder, '– that isn't getting us any closer to getting this place cleaned. Come on, Ron, I need a hand upending the sofa.'

Over the rest of the day, Harry found his mind returning often to the mystery of Regulus and the locket. It was no doubt stolen back by the Death Eaters when they killed him and returned to Voldemort, but that was seventeen years ago. Why didn't Voldemort create a new Horcrux with the locket and restore it to its hiding place in the cave? Unless …

Harry's hand stopped in the middle of pulling up carpet tacks. A thought had just occurred to him. Had Voldemort been going to use _Harry's_ murder to recreate the locket Horcrux? And if so, did that mean that Slytherin's locket was now somewhere in the ruins of his parents' house?

'Have you finished with that lot yet, Harry?'

Harry jumped as Hermione came over to inspect his progress. Quickly wrenching up a nail to cover his laxness, he pulled too hard, making it fly up and nearly hit her in the eye.

They finished the last of Mrs Weasley's food for breakfast on Monday morning so, at eleven, Hermione headed out to get some more. She had wanted the boys to get started on the dining room but, being on the ground floor, it was a little too close to the as-yet-untouched kitchen. Even with the door shut, it was more than they were prepared to endure so Hermione agreed with Ron's suggestion of moving the table upstairs to the drawing room. She also left them with a long list of other tasks to attend to in her absence.

'And don't you two go slacking off!' she ordered, taking a deep breath before heading out to the hall.

Getting the table upstairs took much longer than expected. Ron tried to be clever and enchanted it to walk itself up the stairs but it refused to budge; even _Wingardium Leviosa_ wouldn't work. Things didn't improve when they finally started awkwardly lugging the table upstairs manually. Halfway up, it decided it had had enough of pretending not to be bewitched and demonstrated this by wrapping its legs around Ron and pulling. Ron fell over and tumbled down the stairs, landing hard against the troll's foot umbrella stand. As three dusty moth-eaten umbrellas fell out of the stand and started hitting him, the table (which Harry had been valiantly straining against to keep from sliding after Ron) knocked Harry over and scurried up to the first floor, giving a very wooden laugh as it ran. It hesitated on the landing, as if wondering what to do next, then quickly ducked into the drawing room.

Getting slowly to his feet, Harry crept silently up the stairs (not that the table would have heard him approach over the noise of Ron swearing loudly at the umbrellas and Mrs Black shrieking), thinking about what he had just witnessed. Despite being far too wide for the doorway, the table hadn't shrunk itself in any way or even turned itself on its side; instead, the door's frame had expanded like a giant mouth and swallowed the table whole, belching before returning to its normal size. If the building could do stuff like that, trying to remove walls was certainly going to be interesting.

Reaching the landing, Harry peeked around the corner, being careful to stay out of reach of the door. The table stood boldly in the centre of the room, while a rather battered-looking footstool, which Harry was sure had occupied the space where the table was, quivered behind the sofa. Satisfied that they didn't need to move the table any further, Harry quickly cast _Finite Incantatum _and headed down to help Ron fight off the umbrella which had shut itself over his head.

It was well after one o'clock before Ron decided he was too hungry to wait for lunch any longer and decided he would go in search of food himself. Harry expressed a concern that Voldemort or the Death Eaters might have managed to intercept Hermione but Ron brushed this off.

'You watch, she's run into someone she knows and they're gossiping. She probably doesn't even realise what the time is. So, what do you want for lunch?'

Order in hand, Ron had barely stepped out onto the landing when he came hurrying back into the drawing room.

'Look sharp!' he said. 'Hermione's back! And she's brought Ginny with her.'

'_Ginny?' _Harry's voice was several octaves higher than it should have been. _'What's she doing here?'_ he hissed _'She can't be_ – hi, Ginny.' Harry struggled to wipe the panic from his face. 'What are you doing here? Hermione didn't mention she was going to bring back company?' Harry quickly flashed a smile to try to cover his fear as Ginny entered the room, Hermione right behind her.

Hermione ran a critical eye around the room. 'Did you two do _anything_ while I was gone?'

'Yeah,' said Ron indignantly. 'We dusted the table. Now it's fit to eat off.' He made a grab for the bags of Chinese food she had just dumped on the table, earning a sharp slap on the wrist.

Harry grinned at Ron wringing his hand as he helped Ginny unpack the food.

'What happened in the kitchen?' asked Ginny as she unwrapped several pairs of chopsticks.

'We don't know yet,' replied Hermione. 'We're still working up here. We hope to get this room finished tomorrow.'

'Remember that snuffbox which Fred nicked Wartcap powder from?' Harry reminisced. 'I wonder what he did with it.'

'And that music box.' Hermione started passing around paper serviettes. 'It's a good thing Ginny was here to shut its lid, or we might all still be sitting here sound asleep.'

'I'd just like to have had another go at that locket,' said Ginny, referring to a heavy locket which none of them had been able to open. She looked up from a box of chop suey to find three very startled faces staring at her. 'What? I just wondered whose picture was inside.'

'Don't you mean _what_?' Hermione recovered first. 'Knowing the Blacks, it probably wasn't something human. And if you two want something to eat, you'd better hurry up.' She threw a pointed look at Harry and Ron.

Harry felt shaky as he sat down and helped himself to some noodles. _How could they have forgotten about that locket?_ He risked a quick glance at Ron and Hermione and knew they were both thinking the same thing. The Slytherin Horcrux had been right under their noses the whole time and they _threw it out_!

Or did they? Harry chewed his lemon chicken as he pondered the events of two years before. After all, the Black's former house-elf, Kreacher, had done his best to rescue a lot of the stuff Sirius had earmarked for disposal. What if he had also managed to recover the locket? Would he have taken it with him when Harry ordered him to Hogwarts? Harry couldn't remember seeing it anywhere on his person; an image of Kreacher rolling, kicking and screaming, on Aunt Petunia's clean carpet leapt to the front of his mind.

Which meant it would still be somewhere here in the house, most probably in Kreacher's bedroom under the old boiler in the kitchen. Which also meant they would have to find some way to get past the smell.

He ate quickly, suddenly keen to get Ginny packed off back to the Burrow as soon as possible.

'Are you lot OK?' Ginny asked uncertainly as she glanced around the table. 'You're eating like you haven't seen food for a week.'

It had to have been the slowest, most nerve-wracking two hours Harry had ever experienced but, _finally_, Ginny left for home, Ron escorting her back to Fred and George's shop. As soon as the front door closed behind them, Hermione turned to Harry.

'We need to check the kitchen,' she said without preamble. 'Do you know how to do a Bubble-Head Charm?'

'No.' Harry was surprised that Hermione thought he might know a spell which she didn't. 'It was Cedric and Fleur who did that; I used Gillyweed, remember?' he said, thinking back to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. 'But there's another way.' He trusted that she would follow as he bounded upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

'Why are we in here?' Hermione entered the master bedroom in time to see Harry carefully lift the Pensieve onto his bed. She gazed at it, confused. 'Whose memory are you going to check?'

'Mine!' Harry fished out his wand. 'I just hope I do this right.'

Touching the tip to his temple, he concentrated hard on the Christmas Mr Weasley had spent in St Mungo's. Slowly drawing the wand outwards, Harry knew he had done it right when Hermione gasped and stared at a point between his hand and the side of his head. Harry saw the memory strand glow in the mirror a moment before it came into view as it broke away and swung downwards towards the stone basin, dangling from his wand. He flicked his wrist to break the connection.

'You ready?'

Hermione gave a curt nod and leant forwards, disappearing as her nose touched the misty surface. Taking a deep breath, Harry dived after her.

Glancing around the kitchen, Hermione tested the air tentatively but, of course, there was no smell, only Mrs Weasley sniffing loudly over at the stove, sounding like she had a head cold. Hermione crossed the room to the boiler cupboard in the corner opposite the pantry and went to open the door, but was unable to grip the handle. She looked around at Harry, clearly perplexed.

'You can't touch anything, remember?'

'So how do we open the cupboard?'

'We don't.' Harry nodded towards the door leading upstairs. '_They_ will!' he continued as Ron, Hermione and Harry walked into the kitchen.

The present-day Hermione gazed at the wrapped present in her arms, a look of dawning spreading across her face.

'This is Christmas two years ago.' She glanced at Harry for confirmation as Mrs Weasley, still sniffing, wished the new arrivals 'Merry Christmas.'

'So is this Kreacher's bedroom?' asked Ron, walking straight through Harry on his way to join Hermione in the corner.

'Yes,' the memory-Hermione replied, sounding nervous. 'Er … I think we'd better knock.'

Ron did as instructed, but got no reply.

'He must be sneaking around upstairs,' he said, then pulled the door open. _'Urgh!'_

Finally able to gain access to the cupboard, the present-day Harry and Hermione dived under Ron's arm and began examining the contents of Kreacher's bedroom, ignoring the assorted rags and smelly blankets, stale bread crusts and mouldy cheese, and concentrating their efforts on the far corner where small objects and coins glinted. Harry resisted the urge to snatch up the silver-framed photograph of Bellatrix Lestrange and smash it further.

Hermione's fingers were rummaging amongst the various objects as she muttered, 'No, no, no' quietly, rejecting each item from her search. Harry felt rather useless jammed against the boiler and was about to suggest he take Hermione's place when she suddenly cried, 'Yes!'

Leaning forwards, Harry looked at what she was pointing at. There, lying in a small fold in Kreacher's nest, was the locket he remembered from the day they cleaned the drawing room. However, he wasn't certain if it was also the same locket from Hokey's memory.

Harry didn't get a chance to do more than shrug at Hermione's enquiring face when they heard the memory-Hermione say, 'I think I'll just leave his present here,' as she leaned forwards and laid her package in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets.

Quickly crawling past her legs, Harry and the present-day Hermione made it out of the boiler cupboard just in time, Harry helping his accomplice to her feet as her memory closed the cupboard door, saying, 'He'll find it later … that'll be fine.'

'Come to think of it, has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?'

Harry's stomach plummeted as Sirius emerged from the pantry carrying a large turkey. Hermione's hands were clapped over her mouth as she threw Harry a panicked look.

'I haven't seen him since the night we came back here.' (Harry heard his voice from two years ago, but it sounded like it was much further away than that.) 'You were ordering him out of the kitchen.'

'Yeah …' Sirius frowned. 'You know –'

Hermione suddenly sprang forwards, grabbed Harry's arm in a vice-like grip and kicked off for the surface of the Pensieve, Harry too shocked to stop her.

_x_

'I can't believe it,' said Ron disgustedly as he helped Hermione clear the table. _'We threw it out!'_ He glanced up. 'What are you two grinning about?'

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances

'We didn't throw it out,' Harry informed him.

'What are you talking about? Of course we threw it out.'

'OK, yeah, we threw it out.' Harry allowed himself to be corrected. 'But it didn't _get_ thrown out.' He grinned at Ron's confusion.

Ron turned to Hermione for help. 'Can you translate what he just said?'

Hermione grinned as well. 'We know where the locket is.'

Ron's confusion intensified. 'Where?'

'Here!' said Harry.

Ron glanced from Harry to Hermione 'Huh?'

'In Kreacher's bedroom,' added Hermione. 'We think!' she rushed on, determined to make it clear that there was still a degree of uncertainty involved as she explained about Harry's memory.

'So we need to go into the kitchen?' Ron's face was rapidly turning the colour of parchment. Hermione nodded morosely.

'Cheer up, you two; it's not as bad as you think.' Of the three of them, Harry was the only one who didn't look like he was about to be sick.

Ron threw him a murderous glare. 'And how do you work that out?'

'Numbing Nougats.'

'What nougats?' Hermione asked uncertainly as Ron said, 'Of course. That's brilliant!' Harry explained about Fred and George's sweets.

Hermione brightened up considerably. 'First thing tomorrow, Ron,' she said, tossing empty food containers into a bin-bag, 'you and I will go to your brothers' shop and buy some of those sweets. Then,' (her determined expression reminded Harry of McGonagall), 'we'll finally be able to find out if we have one less Horcrux to search for.'

The next day, Hermione set Harry the task of taking down curtains so they could be cleaned (having first checked that none of them contained any surprises like Doxys). Ron threw Harry a sympathetic look as he left; he obviously thought Harry had gotten the worse end of the deal, but Harry didn't mind. Much as he had hated being the Dursleys' slave, he had to admit it had been good training. And this time round, it wouldn't be a thankless task.

Grinning at the mental picture of how good _his house_ (he was starting to like the sound of that) would look when they were all done, Harry set to work.

When Ron and Hermione returned with a very large bag of products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes (Fred and George had tossed in several more things when they realised it was for Harry), Hermione was all for attacking the kitchen immediately but Ron argued that it would be safer to wait until closer to lunch-time, as their stomachs would be emptier.

'But the smell won't make us sick, Ron. We won't be able to smell it,' Hermione pointed out.

'Yeah, but the sight of whatever is rotting away in the kitchen might; those sweets won't guard against that.'

So at half past twelve, their stomachs rumbling loudly, Harry, Ron and Hermione marched downstairs, chewing as they went. By the time they reached the basement door, Harry felt like he had just been to the dentist and had several fillings done.

'Wand oud,' he told them, carefully pushing the door open. Despite Hermione's protests, Ron had insisted on bringing their buckets with them (Don'd be tho jildich, Rond'), which turned out to be very fortunate.

When Harry saw what was on the table, he tried to block Hermione's view but she pushed past the two of them, muttering something about babies. A moment later, she let out a strangled scream and clutched her bucket close, just in time.

The stove, half the floor and the entire surface of the table were covered with at least four inches of food scraps, some of it covered in mould, some partly broken down like the contents of a compost heap. The stove's oven door had broken off at the hinges and lay amongst the filth on the floor, no doubt forced off by the Venomous Tentacula stretching forth from within the stove's bowels.

But what had, no doubt, affected Hermione most was the pile of bones in the centre of the table. Two small skeletons – one quite obviously a house-elf, the other, the same size, but headless – were set in a pose reminiscent of a medieval execution. The complete skeleton was holding a gigantic meat mallet in the middle of a small pile of very battered bones and mush, as if it had brutally beaten the victim's head to a pulp. Harry was pretty sure the mallet's target hadn't once been a house-elf's head (he recognised a chicken wing amongst it), but that still didn't stop Hermione half-filling her bucket, despite the fact that her stomach should have already been empty.

At the sound of Hermione being sick, Ron also joined in, making it very difficult for Harry not to let fly as well.

Grabbing Hermione, Harry roughly tried to push her back up the stairs (_'Boove, Rond!'_), battling against the urge to join their chorus until they reached the safety of the hall, where he finally lost control of his own stomach.

Collapsed against the door leading back down to the kitchen, Harry grinned weakly at the other two. 'Ad leathed we gan'd dathde id.'

Ron put on a brave face and returned the grin, but Hermione was curled into a ball against the troll's foot umbrella stand, shaking violently and crying uncontrollably into her bucket. Harry glanced at Ron, but his best friend was busily trying to suppress a series of burps, so Harry crawled forwards and pulled Hermione against his shoulder, awkwardly patting her on the back as he felt his face grow warm.

It took Hermione almost ten minutes to bring her crying under control, though she was still very shaky.

'I'b ogay,' she tried to reassure them as she allowed both of the boys to help her to her feet.

Upstairs ten minutes later (Ginny had brought Hermione's wand with her so she was able to clean up the buckets), they were finally able to have a proper conversation as the effects of the Numbing Nougats had worn off.

'Why would Kreacher do such a thing?' Hermione struggled against the urge to break down again.

'Because he's foul, loathsome and _mental_.' Ron seemed angry that Hermione had allowed herself to be comforted by Harry rather than him. 'And he hates humans.'

'He doesn't hate humans,' Harry forestalled Hermione's protest. 'He only hates humans who aren't evil snobs. He likes Sirius's family, especially Bellatrix Lestrange. You didn't hear him the night Dumbledore came to get me from the Dursleys; he was adamant he wanted to serve her rather than me.'

'But why … _that_?' Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, probably trying to shut out the image of downstairs.

'At a guess, so I wouldn't want to take possession,' said Harry. 'Then both Kreacher and this house would go to Bellatrix Lestrange.'

'But –'

'Stop trying to make excuses for him, Hermione!' snapped Ron, making her wince. 'That toerag hurt Buckbeak, lied to Harry to trick him into going to the Ministry, laughed when he told Dumbledore about it and was thrilled to bits when his favourite Black, Bellatrix, murdered his least favourite, Sirius. Not to mention all the insults he's always muttered at all of us. _And_ he refers to you as Mudblood. He's as bad as Malfoy. If you like Kreacher, by rights you should also like Malfoy and feel sorry for him.'

Crack! Hermione's hand flew out and slapped Ron hard across the face, leaving a nasty welt. Ron leapt up angrily as she ran sobbing from the room, but he didn't get any further because Harry blocked his path.

'Let her go.' Harry forced Ron back as they heard the bedroom door slam shut. 'She just needs to get over everything that's happened, OK?'

Ron stared at the door, fuming.

Harry fished in his pocket and withdrew several coins. 'Now, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry, so why don't you go and get us something to eat.' Harry grinned as Ron's stomach growled loudly. 'Just don't eat it all before you get back.'

Halfway through lunch (fish and chips), Hermione's hunger got the better of her. Ron still didn't seem to want to forgive her for what happened earlier, so Harry spent most of his time between the two of them, keeping them from starting their argument again.

The only good thing which came from their attitudes was the fact that the dining room got cleaned in half the time they had expected, as both Ron and Hermione seemed to be trying to outdo each other. It wasn't until they started washing windows that things improved; Ron overbalanced the ladder and Hermione quickly came to the rescue, mending both the ladder and Ron's cuts and bruises. They looked at each other nervously for a moment, then both of them collapsed in a fit of giggles, leaving Harry wondering if things hadn't been better while they were still mad at each other.

After a few minutes, though, they calmed down enough to get back to work, still grinning from ear to ear, no longer prepared to bite each other's heads off.

The windows were half done when there was a quiet knock at the front door. Harry glanced questioningly at the others. Ron shrugged, just as mystified.

Harry was about to start climbing down the ladder when Hermione tossed her duster into the caddy. 'I'll go.'

'But it could be someone dangerous,' argued Harry.

'Exactly!' said Hermione.

Ron fished his wand out of his back pocket.

'Stay alert,' Hermione warned them as she disappeared into the hallway.

Ron and Harry crept over to the door and furtively peered around the edge. 'Oh, hello Professor,' they could just hear Hermione's whispered greeting, 'come in.'

Walking out onto the landing, Harry looked down in time to see Remus Lupin carefully start to mount the stairs. Grinning down at him, he felt the happiest he had for three days. He shoved his wand back into his pocket and held the door for Lupin and Hermione.

Once they were all inside, Lupin looked around appreciatively. 'You've done some good work,' he commented. 'Decided to make a go of it, after all?'

Harry shrugged. 'Well, I do need somewhere to live now I've left the Dursleys.'

'And my brothers pointed out that it could be worth a bit,' Ron added, earning a reproachful look from Hermione.

Lupin chuckled softly. 'There's nothing wrong with seeing the true value in things. It's not the building which was evil, it was the people living in it. Get rid of that, and you have a blank canvas. And a blank canvas is –'

'Just blank,' Harry finished.

'Yes.' Lupin seemed to steel himself. 'Speaking of canvasses, any ideas of what to do with Mrs Black?'

Harry explained about Hermione's suggestion.

Lupin nodded. 'I'm impressed. That sounds like it just might work. At least it's a place to start.' He clapped his hands together. 'So, are you ready to go?' he asked, looking around at them.

Harry glanced down at the damp patches on his clothes. 'We'll just get changed, and be right with you.'

He was about to lead the others out of the room when Lupin stopped him.

'Allow me,' he said and, with a swish of his wand, not only cleaned them up but changed their outfits completely.

Ron looked down at his thick jumper and heavy cloak. 'You've got to be joking! It's a hundred degrees outside. Where's Godric's Hollow - the South Pole?'

Lupin smiled grimly. 'No - enemy territory. And the clothes stay; believe me, you're going to need them.'

Harry looked at him quizzically, but he didn't elaborate. Holding the door open, he said, 'Shall we?'

'How are we getting there?' asked Hermione once they were out in the street and the house had disappeared.

Lupin held out both his arms. 'We'll Apparate. As I know the location I'll guide you - you all only need to focus your Destination upon me.

'So, hold on (they reached out to grasp part of his arms); now – one ... two ... three.' And with a turn, they were off.


	8. Chapter 8: Hollow Secrets

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER EIGHT –**

**Hollow Secrets**

Harry tried to clear the blockage from his ears without holding his nose; blinking, he noticed that they had Apparated outside the entrance to an old graveyard. Looking around, he saw Ron's face gazing apprehensively towards the dark, towering gravestones marking the final resting places of long-dead witches and wizards. On Ron's far side, Hermione stepped into view in the pale, misted moonlight, her mouth slightly open as she attempted to study the runes carved deep into the lintel above the gateway.

Although it was a warm August night, Harry suddenly felt very cold and pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders. So this was what Lupin had meant by 'enemy territory'. A great wave of despair washed over him and he struggled to fight against it.

A loud cracking sound broke the silence and Harry started. Lupin pressed something into his hand and, looking down, he saw a large piece of chocolate. Taking the hint, he started nibbling it distractedly, more concerned for Ron and Hermione's welfare now that the initial effects of the mist were starting to be chased away by the chocolate.

Lupin looked around at them, concern on his pale features. 'Feeling better?' he asked quietly.

All three of them nodded, although Ron was still glancing around nervously, as if expecting to see a dozen Dementors materialise from the surrounding mist.

'It's all right,' Lupin explained. 'They're at the other end of town. As long as we keep both the noise and our emotions down, we should avoid detection.'

Taking a deep breath, he pressed carefully against the rusty gate, which swung open only slightly, as if reluctant to allow them entry. Squeezing through the gap with reasonable ease due to his undernourished appearance, Lupin led them towards the far right side of the graveyard.

Harry was only briefly aware of strange names and old dates passing at the very edge of his vision; his main attention was focused ahead, trying to see where his parents' graves were. Lupin's purposeful stride left him in no doubt that his former teacher had attended James and Lily's funeral. At least one friend had been there. He assumed Dumbledore had been there, too, but Sirius…

Harry blinked rapidly and tried to stamp down the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. Hadn't Professor Lupin said they had to stay calm or risk attracting unwanted attention?

Returning his mind to the present, he saw that Lupin had stopped about fifteen feet ahead. Harry's heart suddenly felt too large for his chest. Walking on feet which seemed to be made of lead, he slowly dragged himself forwards – one step…two steps…

He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder, her shallow breath by his ear.

'Harry, you don't have to –'

'_Yes!'_ Harry cut her off, more sharply than he intended. 'Yes.' He took a few steadying breaths. 'I _need_ to do this.' He glanced at Lupin, who had turned at the sound of their voices, concern once more on his face. Nodding to assure Lupin that everything was all right, Harry grasped his resolve firmly and covered the remaining distance.

And there they were.

Harry looked down at the wide stone slab at his feet. So his mum and dad had been buried side by side, passing eternity as they had lived their lives. He recalled the words Bill and Fleur had vowed to each other only a few days ago – _'till death do us part'_. But death had not parted his parents; merely cemented their union, carving it in stone to endure forever.

Blinking, Harry felt a traitorous tear slide down his cheek. He swiped at it impatiently, mortified that Ron should see him crying over people he had barely known and certainly did not remember.

But Lupin had other ideas. 'It's all right, Harry. You were too young to mourn James and Lily when they died. None of us thinks less of you for mourning them now.'

He felt, rather than heard, Ron and Hermione's support for Lupin's statement, but part of him still did not wish to let go in front of witnesses, no matter how close those witnesses were. And besides, he didn't want to alert the Dementors.

Lupin placed his hand gently upon Harry's arm. 'We'll leave you to spend some time alone with them, no more than five minutes though.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'It is all right to cry silent tears, but try to keep your breathing slow and your heartbeat steady.'

Harry nodded his understanding, his eyes focused upon the names engraved before him.

Then Lupin was gone. Glancing behind him, Harry saw all three of them retreating towards the centre of the graveyard, and he was truly alone with his parents. For the first time since Voldemort had entered his parents' house that Halloween night sixteen years ago, it was James, Lily … and Harry.

Kneeling, he reached a hand tentatively towards the slab, gently caressing the cold stone which separated him from the two people who had loved him most in the whole world. Before he knew what he was doing, he had climbed onto the tomb, curling into a ball and reaching his arm out to lie across the names etched deep into the surface beside him. For a moment, he had a fleeting glimpse of a small boy, little more than a baby, struggling to reach the high rail of his cot, shaking with fear from a bad dream; two strong arms reaching down to him, then lifting up, up, and over a sea of red-gold as his mother rubbed her head into his tummy, making him laugh at both the tickling and thrill of flying; snuggling between two warm bodies, his father's embrace linking with his mother's to hold their little boy safe from monsters.

But there had been one monster they hadn't been able to chase away.

As the memory faded into the distant past, Harry opened his heart and finally let the tears flow – silently and calmly as Lupin had instructed, but falling nonetheless.

He didn't know how long he lay there – it felt like hours or only a few seconds – but slowly, at the edge of his awareness, he heard someone moving swiftly through the overlong weeds between the graves. Looking up, Harry could just make out Lupin's silhouette through the thickening mist and realised he was shivering, though whether from the cold of his parent's tomb or the influence of Dementors, he wasn't sure.

'Sorry to interrupt, Harry,' Lupin's voice held an urgent tone, 'but we need to leave. _Now!_' Without warning, he grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him roughly to his feet.

Harry straightened his glasses and tried to loosen Lupin's grip but with no success. Stumbling after him, Harry was dragged along almost at a running pace, confusion at Lupin's behaviour mingling with his increasing panic. He tried to see through the thickening mist, but couldn't even see Lupin an arms-length ahead.

Then he heard it; a low, rattling gasp, one of the most frightening sounds in the world.

Still struggling to free his hand, he tried to draw his wand so he could fight off the Dementor, but Lupin stopped him. With more strength than Harry would have given him credit for given his appearance, Lupin threw him to the ground and pointed his wand at the darkness.

Harry barely had time to register that he had landed across a shaking body when he heard a second sound. Part of him had been dreading hearing his father's shouts, his mother's screams or even Voldemort's rebirth since that gasp had broken through the gloom, but he had not expected this. Quietly, pleading, two words reached his ears which made Harry's heart tighten painfully.

'_Severus … please …'_

All the despair, horror, anguish and loss which Harry had felt when he witnessed Snape murdering Dumbledore threatened to overwhelm him when suddenly Lupin's voice, strong and commanding, shouted, '_Expecto Patronum'_, joined by Hermione's. Harry was vaguely aware of a bright light burning through his eyelids, but he couldn't shut out the sound of that pleading voice.

Beneath him, he heard the trembling body moan (Ron, it was Ron), and struggled to focus on his friend. Ron was being tormented by unknown demons and was trying to fight Harry. Grabbing the life raft offered, Harry pressed his weight upon Ron and hit him hard across his face. This produced immediate results, for Ron suddenly stopped fighting and started blubbering tearfully.

Unsure what to do next, Harry crawled back off him and bumped Hermione. Looking up, he noticed Lupin turn back towards them as his Patronus faded and died. Briefly, he registered that Dumbledore's voice had also stopped but he didn't have time to ponder his feelings of disappointment; Ron need help. As Lupin broke up another piece of chocolate, Harry tried to lever his friend into a sitting position.

'Here, Ron,' urged Lupin. 'Eat this. It will help you feel better.'

'No.' Ron tried to back away. 'Don't poison me.'

'It's not poison, Ron,' Harry tried to explain. 'It's chocolate. You _like_ chocolate, remember?'

Ron still looked doubtful. 'You poisoned me with chocolate. Made me fall in love…'

'No!' Harry's exasperation at Ron's memory of his seventeenth birthday when he had eaten chocolate laced with Love Potion showed in his voice. 'That was bad chocolate. This is _good_ chocolate.' Harry reached out and took a piece from Lupin's hand. 'See, I'm eating it.' He popped the piece into his own mouth and began to chew, feeling his despair start to dissolve.

But Ron was still shaking and staring fearfully at Harry and Lupin.

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Hermione sounded as though she was bursting with excitement. _(How could she be so happy?)_ 'Out of the way!' Pushing Harry aside, she grabbed Ron's face in both her hands and kissed him long and hard. At first, Ron's muffled whimper was heard as he started to panic, but it rapidly faded to silence as he reached his arms around her and held on for dear life.

It felt like an hour before they surfaced (Harry's face was surely the colour of Gryffindor's Quidditch uniform) but, finally, they broke apart. Hermione reached behind her, and Lupin emptied the chocolate into her hand. Turning back to Ron, she shoved a large piece into his mouth. 'Now, be a good boy and _eat your chocolate!_'

Hermione stood over Ron, hands on hips, and stared down at him with a formidable look on her face. Looking up at her, Ron seemed to finally realise that none of them meant him any harm and began chewing. Satisfied that he was going to do as ordered, Hermione dumped the rest of the chocolate into Ron's lap and stepped back, allowing Lupin to crouch down beside him and ensure Ron ate it all.

Harry was a little puzzled as to why, after taking such control of Ron's recovery, Hermione was now handing that control to someone else. He also couldn't understand her excitement. They had just come close to being attacked by a Dementor – Ron had been especially affected – yet she was now backing away, pressing Harry back as she moved. She was also eyeing Lupin as if she was afraid he would notice them leaving.

Harry tried to ask Hermione what was going on, but she quickly placed her hand over his mouth. He could feel her energy and realised she was struggling not to laugh.

Glancing back at Ron and Lupin, Hermione placed a finger to her lips and then beckoned Harry to quietly follow her. With feelings of guilt and trepidation, he complied.

They had just reached the centre of the cemetery where the tallest and grandest tombs were, when Lupin's voice called out 'Hermione, no!'

'Damn,' muttered Hermione, and grabbing Harry's hand, she began running towards where his parents were. But they had only gone a short distance, when Lupin caught up with them. He grabbed Hermione's shoulder and spun her around. As she turned, her grip on Harry made him stumble and he fell headfirst into a large headstone.

Harry could feel blood starting to soak his hair and his head began to pound painfully. Lupin grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to return him to his feet, but Harry shrugged him off. Staring dazedly at the stone, he finally understood the reason for Hermione's behaviour. But it couldn't be – he must have hit his head harder than he thought.

Looking up at them, Harry wasn't surprised to see a look of smug satisfaction on Hermione, but all anger had left Lupin's face; instead, it displayed disappointment and resignation. So he had known.

Hermione's voice broke the silence. 'I'm going to go and get Ron. I'm sure you two will be able to find something to talk about while I'm gone.' And spinning on one heel, she marched off towards Ron.

'Harry,' Lupin began, but Harry didn't want to hear it. Pressing his hand to his head to try to stem the flow of blood, he stared back at the headstone. An ornate icon – half lion, half eagle – graced the top of the marble. Beneath it, carved letters identified the witches and wizards buried below. Casper and Polly Gryffindor had died about one hundred and fifty years ago, Polly predeceasing her husband by five years. Their only child, Primula, had been added almost forty years later.

But it was the name of Primula's husband, buried a quarter of a century before her, which held Harry's attention: _PATRICK HARRY POTTER._

Harry felt the coldest he had felt all evening. 'How long have you known?' His toneless voice sounded really loud in the stillness.

'Since sixth year.'

Harry looked up at Lupin. 'So Dad knew?' Lupin nodded. 'And Sirius?' Another nod.

'Dumbledore made us promise not to tell.'

'Why? Why couldn't I know? I mean, I'm a … a _Gryffindor_!' Harry thought about how that sounded, his anger at Lupin starting to melt away before the warm glow building deep inside him.

'That's why Dumbledore didn't want you to know. You were already the Boy Who Lived. Now you're being called the Chosen One. It was just one more mantel which you didn't need.'

'But nobody else needed to know. It's not like I'd've gone blabbing it to Rita Skeeter or the _Daily Prophet_. But no. You lot are still trying to make my decisions for me.' He stood up angrily.

'Harry, we're not making decisions –'

'You kept this from me.' Harry started backing away from Lupin. 'If Hermione hadn't found out, I still wouldn't know. You even tried to stop her showing me that tomb. And you reckon you think of me as a man.' He turned and began striding rapidly towards the gateway, not even caring about Ron and Hermione. He just knew he needed to be alone.

He had just squeezed through the gap in the gate when Lupin caught up, Ron and Hermione trailing behind.

'What happened to you?' Ron seemed to have recovered.

'Not now, Ron,' said Lupin quietly as he held the gate for Hermione.

'Didn't you hear, Ron?' said Harry, glaring at Lupin. 'You're not just friends with Voldemort's destroyer.' (Ron winced.) 'No, you're best mates with Godric Gryffindor's great-great-great-great-_great-GREAT GRANDSON_!' Harry's voice rose in volume until he was almost shouting.

Lupin gave Ron (whose jaw had dropped at this news) a nudge to get him to move through the gateway and then followed, pulling the gate closed behind him.

'_You're a Gryffindor?'_ Ron was staring at Harry.

'Yeah,' said Harry bitterly.

Ron continued to ogle. 'You don't sound too thrilled. I'd _love_ to be descended from a Founder … well, not Slytherin, and maybe not Hufflepuff, but … _Gryffindor_? _WOW_!'

'That's enough, Ron.' Lupin took hold of Harry's arm. 'Come on, I'll take you back to the Burrow.'

Harry tore his arm from Lupin's grip. 'What about my parents' house?'

'We can go another time,' he said quietly. 'Right now, I need to get you away from here; you're emotions are too unstable. One Dementor has already found us, and if the rest arrive, I doubt even you will be able to fight them off.' He reached for Harry's arm again, but Harry backed away.

'So much for what you said before. You're still making decisions for me. Well, not anymore. I came here to see my parents' house and _you won't stop me_.' He whirled around and began marching down the road, mist swirling in his wake.

'You're going the wrong way.' Lupin's voice penetrated the fog.

Harry turned and was surprised to find Remus standing only a few feet from him. 'What?'

'Your parents' place is that way.' Lupin pointed behind him. 'I'll take you there, but you need to calm down. Here, have some chocolate.' He took a block out of his pocket and broke off a piece.

'I don't want any chocolate,' said Harry churlishly.

'You're going to have it anyway.' Lupin forced it into his hand, then turned and headed back to Ron and Hermione.

Harry glared at his back for five seconds before muttering, 'Fine,' and strode after Lupin, angrily grinding the chocolate between his teeth as he went.

_x_

'I survived that?'

Harry stared disbelievingly at the ruin which had once been his parents' home. He couldn't think of it as _his_ home because he had no memory of it.

'What happened?' Hermione sounded as stunned as Harry felt.

'Basically, the house collapsed,' said Lupin.

That was an understatement. What had once been a two-storey house now resembled something out of a London Blitz newsreel. The top of the roof, which looked like it had been tiled with slate, was level with Harry's nose, balanced precariously on broken beams. Several holes spread across its surface, revealing glimpses of what had once been well-furnished rooms; Harry could make out half of a torn, broken sofa, the cover's pattern hidden beneath several inches of dust.

The front half of the house had no roof at all, just broken and burnt tiles edging what seemed to have been an upstairs bedroom. It looked like the roof had exploded, leaving the room it once covered exposed to the elements. In the centre of the room stood a large bed with two legs missing; torn, moth-eaten sheets hung over its edge. Harry guessed that the bed had once stood under a window because a faded, water-stained length of velvet was bunched up at the head of the bed, several broken pieces of glass caught in its folds.

'Be careful,' Lupin warned as Harry started to pick his way through the rubble, trying to get a better look at that room.

'It looks like a bomb went off.'

Hermione's voice sounded a long way off. Could mist dampen sound as well as vision? And the mist was certainly getting thicker.

Harry stopped and tried to look back towards Lupin, Ron and Hermione. He knew his ears were straining to draw any sound from the surrounding area, but the only thing they heard was Harry's thumping heart. No voices, but also no ragged breath trying to suck the very life from the moist air. Except …

Harry strained his eyes to see through the gloom. He was certain he had just seen movement ahead. Focusing hard, he could just make out a tall, thin, cloaked figure.

Harry's heart froze. _Voldemort?_' But no! His reason caught up with his fear. It couldn't be Voldemort; his scar wasn't hurting. It must be a Dementor. But why wasn't his fear increasing?

Not wanting to give the Dementor time to attack him while he pondered this question, Harry drew his wand and grasped the knowledge that he was descended from Godric Gryffindor. _'Expecto Patronum!'_ His voice rang clearly through the mist, but no rampaging stag issued forth. Not even a few dismal sparks. Confused, Harry frowned at his wand. He was certain that had been a very happy thought.

Looking up, he saw that the Dementor had turned at the sound of his voice. The pale moonlight broke through the mist enough to light its features. Harry gasped as he recognised, not a Dementor … but Snape. Thrusting his wand forwards, he shouted '_Petrificus Totalus!_' but once again, nothing happened.

Snape turned and began to quickly, but carefully, pick his way through the rubble towards what looked like Harry's old cupboard at the Dursleys. Harry threw his wand aside angrily and began to give chase, vaguely registering Ron, Hermione and Lupin's cries of surprise.

Tripping over a broken beam, he looked up in time to see Snape wrench open the cupboard door. Harry didn't know why, but he knew he had to stop Snape entering that cupboard. Stumbling desperately forwards, he managed to grab Snape's ankle. Snape kicked out at him but Harry refused to let go, causing him to overbalance and fall – down long, bumpy steps, dragging Harry with him.

They rolled to a stop at the base of the stairs, Snape on his back, a muffled '_whoof_' escaping his lungs as Harry landed heavily on top of him. High above him, Harry heard Lupin call out to him, but the words of concern stopped as suddenly as if someone had cast a Silencing charm.

However, Harry barely noticed Snape's struggles, Lupin's sudden silence or Ron and Hermione's gasps of shock.

Raising his face off the floor, Harry saw that he was in what looked like an old bomb shelter, dimly lit by a single candle. Against the far wall rested a narrow bed with a trunk at its foot; to one side of the room stood a medieval brazier; books stood in stacks upon the floor. In the centre of the room was an old armchair, on the back of which rested a large scarlet and gold bird.

And in the armchair, his pale blue eyes staring over a pair of half-moon spectacles into Harry's green ones, sat Albus Dumbledore.


	9. Chapter 9: A Few Words

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER NINE –**

**A Few Words**

Dumbledore half-rose from his chair. 'Are you all right, Severus?'

'I will be once Potter gets his knee off my throat!' The hated voice was full of contempt.

Staring, stunned, at Dumbledore, Harry didn't move.

Gesturing towards Snape, Dumbledore said, 'Harry, would you please be so kind as to extricate yourself from Professor Snape's person?'

Still unable to tear his eyes from Dumbledore, Harry crawled back from Snape and slowly stood on very shaky legs. How many more shocks was he going to suffer tonight?

'_Don't listen to him,' _shrieked Hermione_. 'He's an Inferius!'_

Harry stumbled on the bottom steps in his haste to get away.

'I assure you, Miss Granger, I am _not _an Infe … ri...' Dumbledore seemed to lose his strength over the course of this statement.

Getting to his feet, Snape hurried over to the brazier and lit it using a box of matches. Suspicious at this very Muggle method, Harry made a sudden movement, but Lupin grabbed his shoulders.

'He's telling the truth, Harry,' he said. 'Inferi don't speak.' He, too, was watching Snape warily. He pressed gently, pushing Harry down until he was sitting on the bottom step while he placed Harry's wand in its owner's numb hand, then began massaging Harry's shoulders to try to ease the uncontrollable shaking which had suddenly begun to wrack his body.

Snape, having set a kettle upon the brazier, removed a small phial from within his robes. Examining it closely, he smiled coldly. 'This must be your lucky day, Potter – you didn't break it!'

Fetching a cup from the trunk, he filled it from the boiling kettle. He then emptied the phial into the cup and stirred slowly: three times anti-clockwise, two clockwise.

'What –?'

Dumbledore cut Hermione off with a raised finger. He reached up to take the cup, but Snape refused to release it as he began to sip. Once finished, Snape placed the cup on the bed.

Dumbledore relaxed back into the chair and closed his eyes. With a shuddering breath he asked, 'Were you seen, Severus, by anyone else?'

'No, Headmaster.' Snape had returned to his side.

'Then you had best go before you are missed. Don't worry, I am quite capable of entertaining our guests.'

For a moment, Snape looked as though he wanted to argue with this, but decided against it. 'I'll see you tomorrow then, sir.' Glaring at both Harry and Lupin, he pushed past them and disappeared up the stairs.

Silence rang loudly through the cellar as they all stared at Dumbledore. After several moments, he broke it.

'Despite my assurances to Severus just now, I'm afraid I shan't be a proper host. All of you look as though you could do with some very sweet tea, lots of sugar but, unfortunately, I only have one cup. I also only have this one chair. Perhaps the bed will suffice as a sofa?' He gestured for them to fully enter the room.

Slowly, Lupin forcibly steered each of them to the bed, then turned Dumbledore's chair to face them, all the while watching the headmaster with an odd expression on his face.

Once Lupin had joined Harry, Ron and Hermione on the bed, Dumbledore gave a slight smile. 'I know you must have countless questions. I only hope I shall be able to answer them adequately. Who wants to go first?'

Lupin didn't look very sure of himself as he raised his hand. 'My question's for Harry, though.' Confused, Harry dragged his gaze from Dumbledore. 'Can you please describe for me what happened on top of the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore die –' He stopped suddenly as he realised what he had been about to say.

Harry looked from Lupin to Dumbledore. Yes, the night Dumbledore… well, he obviously didn't die, but how had he survived? Nobody survives the Killing Curse, _except me_. His gaze lifted to search Dumbledore's forehead, but there was no scar.

Dumbledore returned his gaze. 'Would you kindly answer Professor Lupin's question, Harry?'

'Er, of course, sir,' said Harry. 'But I already told everybody. Snape killed … he … what _did _happen, Professor?'

'Oh no, Harry; you're telling this story. I think Professor Lupin wants a more detailed description – minute detail.' He glanced from Harry to Remus and back.

Harry stared bewilderedly at Dumbledore. He couldn't see why this was necessary. 'I really don't know what I could say which would explain, well, _you_.' He shrugged, his reluctance to follow orders written all over his face.

Dumbledore offered helpfully. 'Why don't you begin with us arriving on top of the Tower?'

Harry still wasn't willing to do this.

Dumbledore continued, 'Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let the memory come.'

After another moment of those blue eyes boring into him, Harry finally closed his eyes and cast his mind back. There was so much which had happened that night that it was difficult to know exactly what was meant to be a clue, but he might as well try – he certainly had nothing else to do.

So, taking a deep breath, he began to recount Dumbledore's murder: their return, Dumbledore's order that Harry fetch Snape, not Madam Pomfrey, Malfoy's arrival and their conversation, the Death Eaters, and then Snape.

When he described Snape performing the Killing Curse, Lupin stopped him. 'Say that last part again, please?'

'Snape pointed his wand at Dumbledore and said "_Avada Kedavra_".'

'And the spell definitely hit him; it didn't deflect off the stone?'

Harry's frustration showed in his voice. 'Yes, it definitely hit him. A jet of green light shot from Snape's wand –' (Dumbledore quietly murmured 'Professor' in the background) '– and hit Professor Dumbledore in the chest.'

Lupin blinked. 'A – _jet _– of green light?' His eyes darted to Dumbledore and narrowed. 'Not a flash?'

'No!' Harry was struggling not to shout. 'It was definitely a –'

And suddenly stopped as he thought more closely over this realisation. Memories came rushing at him: Yaxley, Cedric, Moody's spider; the old man in his dream at the start of his fourth year at Hogwarts, very distantly, his mother – all of them, flashes. There had been jet Curses performed by a Death Eater fighting that night at Hogwarts, and Voldemort trying to kill Harry the night he was reborn, but neither of those curses had connected. Was that what had happened with Dumbledore?

But Snape's spell had definitely made contact with his intended victim.

Then another memory, from the night Sirius died, made its way to the surface: Bellatrix Lestrange explaining how Unforgivable Curses worked, and offering to teach him.

And suddenly Harry was staring at Dumbledore, whose twinkling eyes challenged him to spell it out for Ron and Hermione. 'Snape didn't mean it.' He felt stunned by the discovery.

'_Professor _Snape, Harry,' the quiet voice corrected. _'Pro-fes-sor._'

'How would that make a difference?' asked Ron.

'You need to really mean an Unforgivable Curse for it to work,' Lupin explained.

'Hang on,' cried Ron. 'How high is the Astronomy Tower? Even if you were still alive when you fell, the landing would have killed you.'

Ron had a point. Harry glanced at Dumbledore and was surprised to find him smiling.

'The landing _would_ have killed me,' he said, 'had I indeed fallen, but I did not. I _floated_ to the ground, as light as the feather Harry bought from Mr Ollivander on his eleventh birthday.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'So that's what Fawkes was doing outside.'

Harry was getting confused again. 'But Hagrid and I were among the first people to reach you after you fell, and you were dead. You were _dead!_'

'And Madam Pomfrey would surely have noticed if you were still alive while she was preparing your body for burial,' added Hermione. 'No one's _that_ good an actor.'

Dumbledore leaned back into his armchair, his fingers steepled in the familiar pose. 'Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

'Draught of Living –' Harry and Hermione answered automatically, and broke off at the same point as they both realised what they were saying.

Ron's brow creased. 'I've heard that question before.'

'We all have.' Harry was staring at Dumbledore. 'First year, first-ever Potions class: it's one of the questions Snape threw at me trying to make me look stupid in front of the Slytherins.'

'Isn't Draught of Living Death that stuff we had to cook up for Slughorn, and you won that Luck potion?' Ron glanced at Harry, who nodded. 'But there isn't any wormwood in that,' he continued. 'I know! 'I'm allergic to it! Makes whatever part of me touches it blow up really huge and purple.'

Harry cast his mind back, trying to remember exactly what the recipe in _Advanced Potion-Making_ had called for and he could tell, by the look of concentration on Hermione's face, that she was doing the same.

Dumbledore smiled at Ron. 'That is correct, Ron, there is no wormwood in the recipe in _Advanced Potion-Making_; most of that book is incorrect and has been for the longest time. I understand Professor Snape has carried out extensive experiments to correct the errors,' (Harry felt his face start to redden at the thought of Snape's old book) 'but he has been reluctant, as yet, to notify the publishers of the corrections.'

Ron snorted. 'Snape hasn't jumped at the chance to be famous for doing something clever?'

'Of course he wouldn't want to share the information,' said Harry bitterly. 'Couldn't possibly risk any students passing because they were being taught properly.' He stopped at the disappointed look on Dumbledore's face.

'I had hoped, Harry,' he sighed, 'that your less than favourable opinion of Severus would change in light of the evidence that he did not, in fact, murder me, but I see now that such hope was in vain.'

'He'll come round, sir,' Lupin spoke in Harry's defence. 'He just needs time to get used to everything. We all do. I'm not saying what you've said isn't believable, but you have to admit it's a lot to try to take in. And we haven't reached the best part yet, have we?' He threw Dumbledore a knowing look.

Harry wondered what he was hinting at.

'How did you manage to escape from your tomb? I thought it was impossible to Disapparate from within the castle or grounds and you were sealed in.'

Dumbledore reached up and began to stroke Fawkes's magnificent plumage. 'It _is_ impossible for witches and wizards to Apparate or Disapparate at Hogwarts. But that restriction does not apply to other magical beings.'

'But Fawkes wasn't with you at your funeral,' said Harry.

'True,' Dumbledore replied. 'But one of his tail feathers was.'

'So that _was_ a phoenix rising through the smoke over your tomb.' Lupin shook his head, astounded. 'I thought I was imagining it.'

'You saw that too?' Harry asked.

'What phoenix?' Ron looked confused.

'You weren't watching; you had your face buried in Hermione's hair,' Harry reminded him. Ron turned bright red, which Harry found surprising considering his very public performance earlier with Hermione.

'And Madam Pomfrey didn't find Fawkes's tail feather?' Hermione sounded slightly sceptical.

'It was very well hidden, along with the empty potion bottle, in the one place I knew nobody would be irreverent enough to examine closely. My right hand.' And he held up the blackened, dead limb which was the price he had paid for destroying one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

'Let me get this straight,' said Harry. 'You got Snape to pretend to kill you, fell from the Astronomy Tower, got Fawkes to catch you mid-fall, drank a dose of Living Death which you just happened to have on you, and grabbed one of Fawkes's tail feathers so you could disappear from your own funeral?'

Dumbledore's head inclined fractionally.

'How long were you planning this for?' asked Lupin.

'Almost a year.' Harry thought Dumbledore looked very pleased with himself.

'But why?' asked Hermione. 'Why stage your death?'

'For my protection,' he said simply.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked confused. Lupin, however, started chuckling.

'Oh, that's brilliant,' he cried, laughing even harder as three very blank faces turned towards him. 'I'm sorry,' he apologised, trying to bring himself under control. 'What Professor Dumbledore means is, as long as he was still alive, Voldemort would do everything he could to kill him, becoming more and more desperate, to the point where he might be lucky enough to succeed. And then Dumbledore would be dead.

'But by faking his death, especially at Snape's hands, he stops Voldemort's attempts on his life, allowing him to quietly direct things from the sidelines, as well as ensuring Snape doesn't lose his standing with Voldemort, possibly even moving him deeper into his confidence and therefore able to supply more important information to our side.'

Dumbledore nodded his confirmation.

'There's only one problem,' Lupin continued. 'Our side wants Snape dead.'

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. 'We are well aware of that - that is why Severus is spending most of his time close to Voldemort. He only ventures out once a day, very briefly, to minister to me.'

As they absorbed these revelations, Dumbledore watched Harry closely. 'You still have more questions,' he prompted.

Harry's head was spinning. 'Er, yeah ...' He looked down at his wand. 'Why couldn't I produce a Patronus before?'

'You were within the house boundaries.'

'Yes.'

'You misunderstand me; I wasn't asking a question. The reason you were unable to perform magic was because you were here, in this house. Because of the atrocities which occurred here – not so much your parents' deaths, but Voldemort's diminishment – this house is now devoid of all magic. I believe the Muggle term is Dead Zone.'

Harry noticed a look of understanding dawn across Hermione's face. 'So that's why Professor Snape didn't try to repel Harry's attack,' she said.

'No,' said Dumbledore. 'Professor Snape no longer has a wand – for the present, at least.'

Lupin looked up sharply.

Dumbledore explained. 'When he returned to Lord Voldemort to report his success at murdering me, Severus did so in such a way so as to make Voldemort angry that Draco Malfoy had been unable to follow orders. Young Mr Malfoy, seeing the dangerous position he had been placed in (or so he perceived), attacked Professor Snape, during which Severus's wand was broken. As a result, he was unable to physically prove to Voldemort that he had killed me; however, the testimony of the other Death Eaters who had been on top of the Astronomy Tower, as well as the many following reports in the media, were sufficient to satisfy Voldemort that Severus had indeed murdered me.'

Once again silence fell, as they took in this information. It was finally broken by Ron.

'I bet Malfoy's mum isn't so keen on You-Know-Who now.'

Dumbledore raised a brow. 'Why?'

'Well, I mean, with him killing Malfoy.'

'Draco Malfoy is not dead, though he is possibly wishing he was. I understand Lord Voldemort's anger was most extreme.'

Ron grinned maliciously. 'Why, what did he do to him?'

'That,' Dumbledore replied, 'is between Lord Voldemort and Mr Malfoy.

'Now,' Dumbledore addressed all of them as Ron scowled his displeasure at being denied a treat. 'Remus, if you would kindly take Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron (you'll find some gold in the trunk), I would like to have a few words with Harry in private. I have little doubt that you will be the Cauldron's only patrons, so you will only need to alter Tom's memory to think that Harry was with you, if anyone asks. We should need no more than one hour. If you could return then to collect Harry, I would be grateful.' He smiled behind his moustache.

Ron didn't stand.

'Come on, Ron.' Hermione nudged him rather hard to get him to move as Lupin tried to refuse financial assistance. ('I insist, Remus. My treat. It is my way of showing my appreciation for your swift understanding of all of this.')

Once they had departed with a large quantity of Galleons, Harry glanced nervously at Dumbledore.

'I don't blame you for being angry, Harry –'

'I'm not angry.' This was true; Harry felt confused, shocked and even (a tiny bit) elated, but he did not feel angry … not yet.

'I'm also certain you are starting to feel the pangs of hunger,' Dumbledore continued stoically, 'especially with our talk of food just now. You will find some Muggle treats in the trunk.' His eyes twinkled. 'Please, Harry, help yourself. Then we may embark upon our discussion without having to compete with the increasingly thunderous volume of an anticipatory digestive system.'

Harry found himself grinning at Dumbledore's description of his rumbling stomach. Inspection of the trunk's contents revealed several packets of crisps and bars of chocolate. Choosing a chocolate bar, Harry settled, cross-legged, on the bed, and tore the wrapper with his teeth.

'So, what did you want to talk about, sir?' Harry took a bite.

'I understand Professor McGonagall has offered you a teaching position.'

Harry choked. 'How did you know about that?' he sputtered, rapidly blinking his watering eyes. 'Does Professor McGonagall know about you?'

'No, Minerva is currently ignorant of the fact that she has been unnecessarily mourning my passing … and shall remain so.' Dumbledore fixed Harry with a significant look.

'So how did you know?'

'I have my sources.' Dumbledore again stroked Fawkes's tail. 'I also understand that you refused Minerva's offer,' he added. 'Why?'

Harry frowned. 'Because I'm dropping out.'

Dumbledore tilted his head to one side. 'I'm certain your parents would have been rather surprised that you decided not to complete your studies and graduate a fully qualified wizard.'

'Yeah, well, I felt I had slightly more pressing matters to take care of first. I think we're both pretty much agreed that I'm the one who has to destroy Voldemort, and the sooner I do that, the fewer people will get hurt or killed in the meantime.'

'An admiral sentiment and one which should ordinarily be acted upon …'

'But?' Harry didn't like the look in Dumbledore's eyes.

'But I feel it would be to our advantage for you to accept the offer.'

'And when am I supposed to work on destroying Voldemort?' Harry wanted to know. 'Between studying for my NEWTs, teaching and correcting homework, not to mention not being able to come and go easily because of the security at Hogwarts, I won't have time to go looking for any Horcruxes.'

'_Exactly!'_ The silver moustache twitched again at Harry's confusion. 'If you seem to be too busy following Professor McGonagall's instructions, nobody will realise what you are really getting up to. Secrecy is going to be your most powerful ally in your quest – not just secrecy of _what_ you are doing, but secrecy that you are _doing anything at all_.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore. 'So you want me to just go up to McGonagall and tell her I've changed my mind? What if she's found someone else?' argued Harry.

'She hasn't.'

'And you don't think she won't be a tiny bit suspicious?'

'No.' Dumbledore looked surprised at Harry's protest. 'You are an adolescent, so are therefore prone to the changing whims which mark that period of a person's life. Professor McGonagall will not find your change of mind unusual in the least.'

'But how am I supposed to find time to chase after Voldemort?'

Dumbledore didn't immediately answer this question but allowed his gaze to drop to Harry's hand. 'Good, I see Professor McGonagall passed your inheritance on to you without any problems.'

Harry raised his hand, allowing the ruby to catch the candlelight. 'Do you want it back?'

'Only for a moment.' He waited as Harry removed the ring.

Once it lay in his open palm, Dumbledore turned it slowly, as if searching for something within its depths. Harry held his breath.

'Do you like it?' asked Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged. 'It's OK. I've never really been one for jewellery. Why, is it valuable?' He didn't really have a need for more wealth with the combined inheritance from his parents and Sirius's estates, but surely Dumbledore knew this.

'A little.' Dumbledore still gazed deeply into the gem. 'But that is not its true worth.'

'And what's its true worth, sir?' Harry wondered if it was, perhaps, one of Voldemort's heirlooms.

'This, Harry,' Dumbledore gazed over the half-moon spectacles, 'is a Portkey.'

'It is not,' said Harry before he could stop himself, a grin starting to spread across his face.

The silver brows rose. 'Are you correcting me?' Dumbledore allowed himself a slight smile as Harry's face grew warm. 'Just because you have touched this ring without promptly vanishing doesn't mean it isn't a Portkey; it merely means that it hasn't been activated yet.'

'And you activate a Portkey with one, two, three, right?'

'Ordinarily, yes. But this is no ordinary Portkey. To activate it, you shall need to go to my tomb at Hogwarts. On the surface is carved the outline of a phoenix. Place the ring into the eye socket, touch it with your wand, and recite _a few words_.' He held Harry's gaze.

Harry allowed the grin unhindered growth this time. 'Nitwit, oddment, blubber and tweak, right?'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'At least you paid attention to one of my speeches, even if you are a little off. Those words, in that order, will return you to the school. To leave Hogwarts, you need to quote my words of six years ago exactly: "Nitwit! _Blubber! Oddment!_ Tweak!" You're welcome to check your memory in the Pensieve but you will find that I am correct.' The moustache twitched.

Harry frowned. 'But the other way is how I remembered it at your funeral. How did you know I was going to remember it that way?'

'Who do you think made those words flash through your head, in that order, when they did?'

'You used the Imperius curse on me?' Harry felt shocked that Dumbledore would stoop to such a level. 'No, hang on, you couldn't have; I know what it feels like, and anyway, I can fight it off. But then … how …?'

'You are correct; I didn't use the Imperius curse. What I did was make a _suggestion_ using the Hint Tint charm. The rest, your own memory did.

'Hint Tint?'

'A useful little spell designed to help the recipient see points of view other than their own, or to make clues and conclusions more obvious. It is not as powerful as the Imperius curse, but then it doesn't need to be. A quiet whisper can often achieve more, for the listener tends to strain their ears to catch every word, whereas a booming shout usually sees people covering their ears in protest.'

He took Harry's hand in his and pushed the ring back onto his finger, closing his hand over Harry's.

'The Portkey travels between my tomb and the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Now that Remus knows my secret, he can help me transfer to London.'

Harry's stomach lurched. 'Er … you might want to choose a better destination than the kitchen, sir. Kreacher left it … well, he didn't do a very good job cleaning it.'

'That's unusual for a house-elf.' Dumbledore looked mildly surprised. Harry couldn't understand why; he must have known what Kreacher was like. 'How bad is it?'

'It's bad, sir. All three of us were throwing up like crazy, and Hermione … There were some skeletons of house-elves …'

'And Miss Granger was, understandably, quite distressed.' Dumbledore gazed at Harry sympathetically. 'So nothing has been done to restore it to a habitable state?'

Harry shook his head. 'But there is a way. Fred and George have got these sweets … they stop you from tasting or smelling anything. Ron and I used them so we could drink Polyjuice –'

Too late, he tried to bite back his words, but Dumbledore was already eyeing him suspiciously. Briefly, he explained about the practice sessions leading up to their Apparition tests.

'And that's how Mr Weasley came by that bump?'

'Yeah. How did you know that?'

'As I recall, Ron wasn't the most successful Apparator amongst the students – certainly able, but lacking confidence – so it seemed logical that his renewed attempts would be dotted with some failures.' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'What did he hit?'

'He didn't hit anything; it hit him.' Harry shut his eyes against the memory of Ron struggling against him in panic. 'He Apparated into a shop, set off the alarm, and everything in the shop started attacking him. We think it was Borgin and Burkes; there was a story in the _Prophet_ about it next day and Mr Weasley was talking about it at breakfast.'

'And which particular item did the damage?'

Harry dragged his attention from three weeks before. 'What?'

'You said _it_ hit him. What was the it?'

'Oh,' Harry tried to remember Mr Weasley's description. 'A statue of a … hawk, I think … solid gold … oh, yeah – it had sapphire eyes. According to Mr Weasley, it was the only thing in the shop which didn't seem to have been touched, but Ron definitely said it was a _bird_ which really laid into – Are you OK?'

Dumbledore had gone quite pale, even paler than he had been already, and was sitting up stiffly, staring unseeing at the wall behind Harry.

'Professor?' Harry reached out nervously and touched Dumbledore's hand, causing his former headmaster to start. Fawkes gave a squawk and ruffled his feathers, then sang a single low note which hung unwavering in the air between them. The phoenix's music seemed to restore Dumbledore a fraction; a little colour returned to his cheeks and there was definitely a gleam in his eye.

'I'm sorry, Harry. You just reminded me of something I heard once and had long since forgotten.'

'And what was that, sir?'

'Many years ago, I overheard a conversation between two students. One was rather upset that a treasured family heirloom had been sold – her family had fallen on hard times – and the other student was consoling her. I thought it a little unusual at the time because they were in different houses and weren't even particularly well known to each other, let alone close friends; but Tom Riddle could be quite the charmer when he wanted to be.'

Now it was Harry's turn to jerk up straight. 'Tom Riddle?'

'Yes.' Dumbledore frowned. 'It was during his seventh year, when he was Head Boy. Even though there has never been quite as much animosity between Slytherin and the other houses as there has been with Gryffindor, my curiosity was still aroused by this coupling, especially when Tom promised that, as soon as he had earned enough gold after he graduated, he would buy back the heirloom and present it to her himself.

'Already being highly suspicious of Tom's involvement in the murder of a student two years earlier, I kept a close eye on the young lady but, as far as I was ever able to discover, Tom never contacted her after he left Hogwarts – in fact, I don't believe he ever spoke to her other than on that one occasion – and the girl later went on to marry a Muggle. To my knowledge, she never regained ownership of the artifact whose loss she had lamented so miserably that day.'

'And you think the bird which attacked Ron was that artifact?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'The description certainly fits; Tom plied the girl thoroughly for details concerning the heirloom; its appearance, properties … and even the merchants to whom it had been sold.' He eyed Harry shrewdly.

'But if Borgin and Burkes bought that statue when Voldemort was in seventh-year, surely it must have been sold long before now.' Harry knew that more than fifty years had passed since Voldemort left school.

'Not if there was a special ward placed upon it to prevent it being sold, and thus _removed_, from its hiding place.'

'But why hide a gold statue in the middle of a junk shop? Anyone might have seen it, and they did. The Ministry people who investigated the break-in had no trouble.'

'But did they remove it?'

'No, Borgin convinced them that it wasn't a plant like they thought and that he'd had it for years. Why, did you want to try to buy it and give it back to that girl?' Harry realised he didn't know her name.

'That would be quite impossible, for she died a year before your parents.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unsure whether he had understood him correctly.

'She was murdered?'

'I believe so, though whether on Lord Voldemort's orders or not has always been in question. He had supposedly promised her protection for her son's sake.'

Harry found the idea of Voldemort protecting anybody impossible to believe. 'Who was her son?'

'One of the Death Eaters.'

Harry felt cold. What was so important about this girl that Voldemort would try to protect her? Had they been …

He quickly squashed down that thought. Dumbledore had said she had married a Muggle and Voldemort, despite being half-blood, wouldn't have allowed himself to get close to anyone who had a connection to the Muggle world. He would view them as unclean, all the while wallowing in the hypocrisy of his pure-blood ancestry. No, his only interest in this girl, whoever she was, would be that bird. But why promise her son he would protect her if he had tracked down the bird years before; no doubt he had come across it when he worked at Borgin and Burkes.

'What's so special about a statue of a hawk, sir?' Harry felt he needed to learn more about that bird to work out its connection to all of this.

'If it is indeed the heirloom Tom Riddle learned about that winter's day many years ago, it is not a hawk. It is an eagle.'

'An eagle?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Yes. I could be mistaken, but I believe the golden bird which attacked your friend Ronald is none other than the Ravenclaw Horcrux.'

Harry was so stunned, he actually stopped breathing. Only when he finally tried to speak did he remember that his body needed a constant supply of oxygen.

'Why would Voldemort hide something that important in an old junk shop?'

'For the same reason he hid a ring in an abandoned old hovel; because it related to part of himself.'

'Why, because he used to work there?'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'Partly, but I would say it was more to do with the fact that his former employer had been responsible, at least in part, for his mother's death.'

Harry was confused. 'I thought Merope died in childbirth.'

'And so she did. But her inability to survive the labour was greatly assisted by physical weakness. She had been living on very meager means for some time and ten Galleons wouldn't have gone very far, even back then. So yes, I would say it isn't too much of a stretch of the imagination to see that Tom blamed his former employer.' He reached up to stroke Fawkes's tail absentmindedly.

'There is also the matter of Mr Burke's … demise. Two years before Voldemort came to me asking for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, Caractacus Burke vanished from wizarding society, never to be seen or heard from again. The_ Daily Prophet_ did speculate some time later, after they became more commonly known, that he had joined Lord Voldemort's forces as a Death Eater. He had dealt with dark matters for most of his life, so would be perfect stock for their ranks. The _Prophet_ also dismissed the possibility that he had fallen foul of Voldemort – there had been no Dark Mark hovering in the sky above the shop, no sign of a struggle, no body and nothing missing from the shop, which also ruled out the possibility of an interrupted burglary.

'The only thing missing was Burke himself. Personally, I always suspected that he had not removed himself willingly because the mirror in his room was newly cracked and all of his belongings were still present, right down to his gold pocket watch, and he never went anywhere without that. But as you have yourself witnessed, Harry, my opinion is not always accepted where matters involving Voldemort are concerned.'

'But if Burke's murder was revenge for his mum, then Voldemort would have killed him personally, wouldn't he?'

'Almost certainly. He was only starting to build up his followers and it would be some time before he would step into the background and allow the Death Eaters to do most of his work for him (his Reign of Terror did not begin for almost fifteen years). Also, this was to be a Horcrux-making murder, so he would definitely have taken charge of the task.'

'So why didn't he leave the Dark Mark?'

'Because it would have had people looking more closely at the murder and wondering what Caractacus Burke had done to cross the dark shadow which was starting to creep across the land. Remember, very few people realised that the sinister Lord Voldemort had once been the debonair Tom Riddle; I don't think even Borgin knows, though I imagine Mr Burke was forced to face that fact before he died. No, this murder needed to be kept _very_ secret. Voldemort could not lay the blame elsewhere as he did with Hagrid, Morfin and Hokey; the most likely suspect would be Burke's partner, Borgin, and if he was sent to Azkaban, the shop would close. And where would Voldemort's followers purchase their less-than-legal items then?' The moustache twitched again. 'Also, if people became aware that Riddle was Voldemort, someone might realise just what was going on.'

'That he was making Horcruxes?' Harry asked.

'Yes. Even the Death Eaters, some of whom have witnessed the changes throughout the years at close quarters, haven't properly understood the evidence before their eyes and seem to have concurred with the general wizarding community that Voldemort's physical deterioration is a direct result of his evil mind. I doubt if any of them has even heard the word Horcrux, let alone knows what it means. If they had, they would be creating their own Horcruxes in an attempt to be as powerful as their master.'

Harry felt a jolt deep in his stomach. 'Actually, one of the Death Eaters _did_ twig to his secret –'

'Professor Snape is no longer a Death Eater, Harry,' Dumbledore sighed tiredly.

'I wasn't referring to him.' Harry dug in the pocket of his jeans. 'I meant this bloke,' he said as he fumbled with the locket. Finally releasing the latch, he prised out the scrap of parchment with Regulus's message and passed it to Dumbledore.

'I must confess I am a little disappointed by your decision to carry Salazar Slytherin's locket upon your person. I would have thought you would find a more secure hiding place such as Grimmauld Place; you can take possession of it properly now that you have had your birthday.' Dumbledore raised the note, the better to examine it in the flickering candlelight.

'R. A. B?' he whispered softly, a stillness passing over him like a shadow. He held out a hand for the locket, but gave it little more than a cursory glance, realising almost instantly that it was neither as large nor as heavy as Slytherin's.

'We reckon R. A. B. stands for Regulus Alphard –'

'Black.' Dumbledore once again gazed into the distant past. 'That certainly explains a lot,' he murmured quietly. He glanced up at Harry.

'As you no doubt know from the tapestry at Grimmauld Place, Sirius's brother, Regulus, passed away shortly after you were born. We always believed he developed cold feet regarding his duties as a Death Eater and had tried to back out of his commitment to Lord Voldemort. Voldemort would not have taken kindly to that and so would have ordered the other Death Eaters to dispose of him.

'Regulus turned up at Sirius's late one night, shaking like a leaf and, according to Sirius, "extremely weak and in great pain". He barely had the strength to speak, let alone stand but, I am sorry to say, Sirius offered his brother no assistance, suspecting the performance was part of a trap.'

'What did Regulus want?'

'To tell Sirius that he had taken care of it and we would now be able to get him at last. Neither Sirius nor I were able to decipher the cryptic message, though when we heard of his death a few days later, I did suggest that it had been a form of goodbye. Unfortunately, Sirius's bitterness towards his family meant he felt no forgiveness or loss, and never mentioned his brother again until a year before his own death.'

'So how did Regulus die?'

'At Grimmauld Place. Both his body and bedroom were apparently found quite the worse for wear, and it was always assumed that he had been tortured most terribly before finally being murdered. Sirius suspected Bellatrix Lestrange had a prominent hand in the execution, and given her involvement in the torture of Neville's parents, it certainly would not have been beyond her scope.

'Mrs Black's reaction didn't offer us any more clues for she refused to believe that a second son had shunned the forces of darkness, nor was she willing to feel anger towards Voldemort or his followers who had so brutally brought about her loyal son's death. She was adamant members of the Order of the Phoenix were responsible, even though it was impossible for them to gain access to her house.'

'Couldn't Sirius have gotten in?' Harry frowned slightly.

'He could, but his mother did not believe that he possessed the strength of mind required to murder anyone, let alone his own brother, as she spent several days telling him in her dulcet tones when he first offered the house to the Order.'

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for his godfather and determined, even more strongly, to rid number twelve, Grimmauld Place of Mrs Black's portrait.

'But in light of this,' Dumbledore waved the piece of parchment, 'it would seem that Sirius's brother was not murdered by Death Eaters after all, but by the curse protecting the Horcrux. I wonder what became of it?' His brow gained more creases as he pondered the question.

'It's at Grimmauld Place,' said Harry, making Dumbledore jerk his head up suddenly. He explained about Ginny's comment, and his and Hermione's subsequent journey into the Pensieve.

A glimmer of his former strength spread across Dumbledore's face. 'I knew bequeathing the Pensieve to you was the right thing to do. I'm pleased you have wasted no time putting it to good use. So the Slytherin Horcrux has been right under our noses all this time.' He slowly shook his head.

'Why didn't Mrs Black give it back to Voldemort?' Harry would have thought that would have been the logical thing to do.

'She probably never knew he was Slytherin's heir; like I said, very few people realised he was Tom Riddle.' He glanced at Harry. 'So the locket is in Kreacher's bedroom?'

Harry nodded.

'In the kitchen?'

Harry's stomach tightened as he nodded again.

Silence stretched between them for several minutes as Dumbledore considered the problem.

'I presume, Harry that I am correct in believing that Molly Weasley has been more protective of you than ever despite your now legally being an adult?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'You should have heard her when Lupin told me I had to spend three days at Grimmauld Place. She was really –'

Dumbledore's brows shot up. Harry quickly swallowed the word he had been about to use.

'– Er … unhappy' (the silver moustache twitched again), 'when I said I didn't want her there. I'm just glad I hadn't told her yet that I was going to quit school. I know she means well, but sometimes her mollycoddling can be a bit much.' He slumped back against the wall feeling very disgruntled.

'And she would, no doubt, insist upon taking charge of restoring your kitchen to a presentable state.' Dumbledore frowned. 'Therefore, I think it would be best not to enlighten her as to its condition.

'It would also be best to let everyone think that you are unsure just what your plans for the house will be. Part of you will deplore it, especially in the face of all the Black memorabilia there; so you'll probably end up selling it, or even going so far as having it demolished. But part of you will be thrilled at the thought of owning your own property, seeing it as a mark of your coming of age, and you will feel protectiveness towards it, unwilling to share it with anyone but your closest friends.

'So it will be with a certain amount of undecided regret that you shall inform Professor McGonagall that number twelve, Grimmauld Place will no longer be available for use as headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Minerva will, no doubt, point out that if you are not living in the house yourself, continuing to use it as headquarters should not pose a problem (and may even offer to purchase the property from you), but I shall need you to stand firm. After all, it wouldn't do to have a constant stream of witches and wizards passing through its door and stumbling upon me, would it?'

Harry grinned back at Dumbledore. 'And what excuse do I give Mrs Weasley for spending all my time there?'

'You won't be spending any time there. Uh, uh,' Dumbledore forestalled Harry's protest. 'Even though you are now an adult, I doubt either the Ministry or Voldemort's allies would have ceased their distant monitoring of your movements; in fact, I would be greatly surprised if it hasn't intensified, given that both parties are very keen to learn what you are doing in your efforts to defeat Voldemort – the Dark side to prevent their master's destruction, and the Ministry to snatch your success for themselves.'

'You can add the Order of the Phoenix to that list too,' Harry told him. 'McGonagall has tried a couple of times now to get me to tell her what we were up to the night you didn't die, and what I'm going to do now. And she wasn't happy when I didn't tell her. If she knew about the Horcruxes, she would definitely pass the task onto the Order and keep me stuck at Hogwarts _for my own protection_. Either that or assign me a twenty-four hour guard, making it impossible for me to do anything unnoticed.'

Dumbledore frowned slightly. 'Yes, Minerva can find it difficult to switch from protective teacher to proud associate, tending to always see her former students as small, frightened first-years and not notice them grow into mature, able adults, capable of facing life's challenges. And she will be especially protective towards you given the losses you have suffered and the horrors you have seen. Even though she has offered you a job, I suspect it is less to do with her acceptance of your maturity and more to keep you too busy to chase after Voldemort. We shall have to be careful how we operate outside her notice, but it can be done, thanks … to that.' He nodded towards Harry's ring.

'And you're OK with that? Tricking McGonagall?' Harry wasn't certain he had heard correctly.

'Oh, we won't be tricking her.' Dumbledore looked almost scandalised at the thought. 'We will merely be preventing her from being distracted from her own task of providing leadership to the Order.'

'So we'll have to feed misinformation to the Order?'

'No.' Dumbledore breathed deeply. 'The Order shall still operate as it always has – keeping an eye on and gathering evidence against the Death Eaters, as well as anticipating and forestalling both theirs and Voldemort's activities.

'_Your_ task, though sharing a common goal – the abolishment of the Dark side – is quite separate from the Order's: you need to track down and help destroy the remaining Horcruxes, thus enabling you to successfully fulfil Professor Trelawney's prophecy by then destroying Lord Voldemort.'


	10. Chapter 10: The Wrong Step

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TEN –**

**The Wrong Step**

On the way back to The Burrow, Ron peppered Harry with questions, none of which he consented to answer. All Harry would tell them (much to Ron's annoyance) was that they were to lay low at the Weasleys' for a couple of days while he took care of a few things, then they would proceed from there. In the meantime, they were not to talk about any of this, even amongst themselves. Ron still tried to argue and Hermione didn't make him any calmer by taking Harry's side, but Lupin managed to get him to (very grudgingly) agree to Harry's terms by the time Molly opened the kitchen door.

When Harry did return from his 'few things', he still wouldn't tell them what was going on. Mrs Weasley demonstrated her displeasure at this by refusing to let Ron go anywhere with Harry until they explained what they were up to. This led to the worst argument Harry had ever witnessed the Weasley family have and wondered if the bust-up with Percy had been in any way similar and, indeed, Ron went so far as to threaten to move in with his estranged brother and never speak to his mother again before Mrs Weasley finally broke down. Mr Weasley pulled her into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder so she wouldn't see him waving Harry, Ron and Hermione away behind her back.

'Be careful,' he mouthed at them as they silently crept out the door.

'What are we doing here?' Ron screwed his nose up as they turned into Grimmauld Place.

'You'll see,' Harry grinned.

Hermione glanced around uncertainly. 'Something's wrong.'

'Stop being a panic merch –'

'Where's Sirius's house?'

Ron frowned at Hermione. 'What do you mean, where is it? It's right –' His jaw dropped as he looked at number eleven and number thirteen … and nothing in between. 'Er … Harry … I think someone stole your house.'

'This will make things clearer.' Harry fished a slip of parchment out of his pocket and passed it to Hermione.

'The residence of Harry James –'

'Not out loud,' Harry cautioned with a nervous glance along the street.

Hermione frowned at the message again and then glanced up.

'_Oh!_'

'What?' Ron craned his neck to see over her shoulder. 'That's like the note Dad showed us when we first –'

'Concentrate on it, Ron.' Hermione passed it over her shoulder to Ron. Without waiting for the note's magic to work on him, she started to cross the road towards the now-visible number twelve.

'OK, so nobody nicked it.' Ron scowled at them as he caught up. 'But like I said, why are we here?'

'_You'll see_.' Harry touched the black front door – a series of clicks could be heard as the door unbolted itself – then he ushered his friends inside.

Much to Ron and Hermione's dismay, Harry promptly led them down to the kitchen.

'It's OK, you can breathe,' Harry told them as he opened the kitchen door; they were starting to turn blue.

'What the –'

Hermione jabbed Ron hard in the back to stop him saying something he shouldn't, but it was more from habit than conscious intent. Both of them gaped, astonished, at the room before them.

'You did all of this in _two_ _days_?' Hermione asked as she slowly stepped into an extremely clean kitchen. Dumbledore nodded from his seat at the head of the table. 'Oh, I have _so_ got to learn your housekeeping charms.'

Dumbledore chuckled. 'Actually, it was Remus Lupin who did most of the work, with assistance from Harry.'

'Did you get rid of Mrs Black, too?' Ron was peering closely at the table. Apparently satisfied that there were absolutely no traces of house-elf (mashed or skeletal), he pulled out a chair and sat down.

'I already told you, Ron; the only way we're going to get rid of that portrait is to take down the wall.' Hermione sounded impatient as she accepted Dumbledore's offer of a seat. 'So, what do we do now?' She gazed at Dumbledore expectantly.

'Good morning to you, too, Miss Granger.' Dumbledore's moustache twitched a moment at Hermione's uncharacteristic lack of manners. He glanced up at Harry before she could redden too much. 'I think we're ready now, Harry.'

Harry closed the door and sat down at the end of the table opposite Dumbledore.

'The first meeting of the Lazarus Club shall now come to order.'

'Huh?'

Ron looked from one end of the table to the other, clearly at a loss, but Hermione sat up straighter, eager excitement all over her face.

'What's the Lazarus Club?' Ron was still staring at them stupidly.

'It's the name I've decided to give to the people who know about Dumbledore,' Harry explained. 'Total membership: seven.'

Ron frowned in concentration, counting his fingers. 'Who's the seventh?'

'Fawkes.' Dumbledore stroked the head of the phoenix resting on his lap.

'Oh … OK … So what now?'

'Well, for a start, I thought you might like to know what I've been doing the past couple of days.' Harry drew Ron's attention away from Dumbledore.

'Cleaning this place.' Ron took a deep, appreciative breath.

'Yes, well, I couldn't have Dumbledore trying to cook in here with it like it was, could I?'

'And what's Dumbledore doing here, anyway?' Ron turned back to the former headmaster. 'Aren't you worried someone from the Order might see you?'

'Only the Lazarus Club can find this place,' said Harry.

'What do you mean only –? How did Fred and George turn up on the doorstep?'

Dumbledore frowned quizzically at Harry.

'Last Sunday,' Harry explained. 'But … that was before yesterday.'

'Yesterday? What happened –?'

'Be quiet, Ron; let Harry explain.'

Ron scowled at Hermione.

'Yesterday, I went to Hogwarts,' Harry told them. 'I told McGonagall I'd take that job –'

'_What?_ You said – OW!'

Hermione slapped Ron's hand

'– and I got Professor Flitwick to perform the Fidelius Charm upon me.'

'Oh!' said Hermione.

'_What_?' cried Ron.

'Oh, isn't it obvious, Ron? Harry's Secret Keeper!' Hermione stared at Harry in amazement.

'But I thought … aren't _you_ –?' Ron turned to Dumbledore, confused.

'I was Secret Keeper for the location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, it is true,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'But that organisation is now based at Hogwarts. This building –' he swept his hand in a wide arc, '– is now nothing more nor less than _Harry's_ _house_, though still complete with its protective wards. It is because of this protection that Harry has graciously given me leave to use it as my hideout.' The blue eyes twinkled at Harry.

'So why is Harry Secret Keeper?'

'So nobody from the Order of the Phoenix can accidentally stumble upon us. They won't be able to find this place because I haven't told them about it.' Harry grinned at his friends.

'Does that mean Mum can't come barging in here?' Ron wanted to know.

Harry nodded.

'Great! I'm staying _right here_!' Ron jabbed his finger twice on the table for emphasis, but a moment later his grin slipped. 'Er … wait up … you said only people in this Lazarus Club can get into this place, right?'

'Yes.' Dumbledore watched Ron closely, his moustache twitching ever so slightly as if at some private joke.

'Does that mean Snape can rock up here without warning?'

'Professor Snape is able to gain entry to this house, yes.' Again, the moustache twitched.

'I've changed my mind,' Ron glared at Harry, as if blaming him for letting Snape in on his secret. 'I'll take Mum over Snape any day!'

Despite his avowal not to stick around, Ron spent most of the remaining holidays at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Hermione, cleaning the house under Dumbledore's guidance. At the end of the meeting, Dumbledore had produced Slytherin's locket, which both Ron and Hermione had examined at close quarters. It was no longer readily identifiable as the locket from Hokey's memory (the snake engraved upon the crest had melted into the gold surface), but charms performed upon it by Dumbledore and Snape had left both professors convinced that it had at one time been a Horcrux but was no longer.

Snape returned each evening to administer Dumbledore's 'treatment', which was the cue for the three teenagers to make themselves scarce, and Lupin came to see them just after the full moon, looking tired and pale but bringing lots of news, the most important being that Amelia Bones's brother, Alan, had been found dead behind the Leaky Cauldron.

'Isn't he Susan's father?' asked Hermione.

Lupin nodded. 'They must have really taken him by surprise; he didn't even get a chance to draw his wand.'

The day after Lupin's visit, while clearing out Sirius's old room, Harry found a small mirror tucked away in the bottom of the sock drawer. It looked familiar.

'It is indeed a Two-Way Mirror, Harry.' Dumbledore looked up from his inspection of it. 'Where did you find it?'

'In a drawer.'

'There was only the one?'

Harry felt his face grow warm as he explained about the mirror's mate.

'Well, it is no longer any use as a Two-Way,' Dumbledore sighed. 'But it still functions perfectly as a plain mirror. May I keep this?'

Harry had been reaching for it but quickly pulled his hand back. 'Er … sure … if you want,' he said, trying to cover his embarrassment.

Four days before school was due to start again, letters arrived with their booklists as well as Head Boy and Head Girl badges for Ron and Hermione ('You'll have to go home for dinner tonight,' Dumbledore told them, smiling broadly. 'Molly will insist upon a celebratory feast.')

Harry's letter, on the other hand, included a not-so-welcome surprise.

… _I shall need your Lesson Plans for the first term's classes delivered to myself no later than ten p.m. on 31 August._

_Yours sincerely_

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Lesson Plans? For a whole term? Despite not being a novice when it came to teaching, Harry's mind was suddenly blank. How was he supposed to devise classes for _five years_? Suddenly he wished he hadn't allowed Dumbledore to convince him to change his mind. _Dumbledore! _Harry's panic diminished slightly. Dumbledore got him into this, so Dumbledore could get him out.

'No, Harry; I shall not draw up your lesson plans for you.' Dumbledore gazed up at Harry's disgruntled face with infuriating calmness. 'What I shall do, however, is provide guidance. Despite your current feelings of self-doubt, you are quite capable of completing this task yourself.'

So, while Ron and Hermione went to Diagon Alley to get their supplies for the new school year (although Harry suspected it was just an excuse to be alone together – despite being extremely large, the house didn't have many safe hiding places), Harry settled down at the kitchen table with several scrolls of parchment.

It was no easy task. McGonagall's advice to him when he had first accepted the job had been to draw upon what _he _had been taught during each of his years at Hogwarts but, since one teacher had been afraid of his own subject, one suffered pure narcissism, one actively worked to stop him learning anything and one continually failed him out of spite, it wasn't much to go on. Even Moody's **'**_Constant vigilance!_', while in character, had merely been an act. Only Remus Lupin had ever taught classes which Harry both enjoyed and really learnt from.

But that was only one year.

'It would help if I knew what students are supposed to know at each level,' he complained to Dumbledore as he poured over the books Sirius and Remus had given him for Christmas during fifth year.

'Minerva didn't give you a copy of the school's curriculum?' Dumbledore glanced up from the volume he had been flicking through. 'That was most remiss of her.' He reached across for a sheet of parchment.

Curiosity and puzzlement battling with each other, Harry watched as Dumbledore waved a wand over the blank page.

'Admittedly, I am not acquainted with procedures since Minerva has taken charge, but I am familiar with details of the curriculum when _I _was headmaster. I believe you shall find this sufficient to be going on with.'

Harry stammered his thanks as he gazed at the page now completely covered with Dumbledore's thin, slanting handwriting, providing a most detailed description of what Hogwarts students could be expected to know at the end of each year with regards to defending themselves against the Dark Arts. Right up to the N.E.W.T. exam. That would come in extremely handy if Fulstrum turned out like Umbridge and Harry ended up having to teach himself again.

The party that night was a buffet affair. Mrs Weasley was torn between uncontrollable exuberance and bitter disappointment that Ron would be the last Head in the family, Ginny not being a prefect.

'What I don't understand is,' Harry mused to Lupin over a thick slice of apple and rhubarb pie, 'you were the male Gryffindor prefect, right?'

Lupin nodded.

'Well, when I first found out about all of this and my mum and dad, Hagrid told me that they were Head Boy and Girl in their seventh year. How could Dad have been Head Boy if you were prefect?'

'Because I was no longer prefect.' Lupin lowered his voice 'It took Severus more than a year, but he finally came up with a serious enough threat that Dumbledore backed down and recalled my badge.

'What was the threat?'

'I don't know; Dumbledore never told me. Mind you, Severus didn't get it all his own way; Dumbledore promptly made James not just prefect, but Head Boy.'

'I bet Snape loved that.'

Lupin smiled wryly. 'I think it was Dumbledore's way of teaching him that actions have consequences.'

'What about all the trouble Dad got into with Sirius?'' Harry thought of all the detention cards Snape had made him rewrite.

'What about all the trouble Ron has gotten into with you?' Remus threw back.

Harry couldn't think if anything to say to that. He took a moment to swallow his dessert.

'So you would have been Head if Snape hadn't –'

'I don't think so.' Lupin accepted a cup of tea from Mrs Weasley. 'Of the four of us who had been prefect in sixth year, I would say Geoffrey Andrews, a Muggle-born Ravenclaw, had been the most likely candidate. But he and his family were killed over the holidays, and out of James, Geoffrey's replacement and the other two boys, James had the best qualities.'

Harry stared at Lupin, his second slice of pie forgotten. 'Voldemort –?'

'No, neither he nor any of the Death Eaters were responsible, at least according to Dumbledore … and his conclusions usually ended up being right.'

'Then how –?'

'Car crash. Mr Andrews had a history of heart disease and apparently had a heart attack at the wheel. It was just their time, I guess.'

Harry stared down at his plate. He didn't think he would ever agree with that one, that the time could be right for a young life to be suddenly and tragically ended. As far as he was concerned, it would never be time.

_x_

When Harry got downstairs on the morning of September first, he expected to find the usual chaotic pandemonium of the last-minute rush to get everybody and everything ready to be at platform nine and three quarters by eleven o'clock. Instead, he found the kitchen extremely quiet. Mr Weasley was staring out of the window, Mrs Weasley was packing three loaves of sandwiches, looking very content with the state of the world and two grim-looking wizards in dark robes were in front of the fireplace.

Mr Weasley turned away from the window as Harry came in but refused to look at him, glancing, instead, at the two strangers very briefly.

'Harry.' He cleared his throat nervously; Harry had the impression he was a little afraid of the men. 'This is Nigel Blackthorn (short and fat, Blackthorn's beady, extremely pale eyes narrowed) and Horatio Plaxton (the tall, thin one grunted curtly). 'They're with the Ministry of Magic. They're your bodyguards.'

Harry supposed it shouldn't have been too unexpected for the Ministry to provide protection for him until he safely got onto the Express; it certainly wasn't the first time they had kept an eye on him, but they had always made an attempt at subtlety before. It was the first time they had purposely drawn attention to themselves.

'They'll be working a split shift,' Mr Weasley continued. 'Blackthorn will be guarding you during the day and Plaxton will take over at seven each evening.'

Harry blinked. 'What, they're going to be on the train with me?' That would make talking to Ron and Hermione difficult.

'They're going to be with you all the time from now on, until You-Know-Who has been taken care of,' Mrs Weasley piped up. 'So there'll be no more looking for trouble, young man.'

'I've never gone looking for trouble –'

'Nevertheless, you always manage to find it!' She was all ruffled, like an angry hen. 'And as for this ridiculous suggestion that _you're_ the one who's supposed to destroy …' She took a gulping breath 'You can get that idea out of your head right now. You just concentrate on your studies like a normal boy and leave far more dangerous matters to the experts!'

Harry couldn't believe Ron's mother was siding with the Ministry. 'I'm not a boy anymore,' he growled through gritted teeth. 'I'm seventeen. And even when I was a boy, I certainly wasn't _normal_.' He pointed at his scar. 'I'm not a kid and you're not my mother, so stop trying to keep me locked in a cage. I had enough of that at the Dursleys.

'As for you two,' Harry turned his fury on the Ministry employees. 'You can take me to King's Cross, if you must, but once I get on the train, I fall under McGonagall's protection. The Ministry has no jurisdiction at Hogwarts.' He glared at them.

'We may not have jurisdiction over Hogwarts,' Blackthorn reached inside his robes and removed a roll of parchment, 'but we do have jurisdiction over _you_.' He tossed the scroll onto the table.

Harry picked it up warily and broke the seal. His eyes scanned down the page, the pink-inked words changing his anger to horror.

'_She can't do this!_' Harry threw the scroll back at Blackthorn.

'Unfortunately, she can,' Mr Weasley mumbled to the table. He was still refusing to look at Harry.

'Too bad! There's no way I'm agreeing to that!'

'It's a little late to try to back out now.' Blackthorn's face was completely expressionless. 'You sealed the agreement when you broke the seal.'

Harry glared at all four of them, but if he was expecting them to back down, he could tell immediately from the looks on their faces that it was going to be a long wait. With an angry cry, he turned to storm from the room and promptly bumped into Ron, making the trunk he was levitating fall with a loud CRASH! All Ron could do was stare in bewilderment at Harry's disappearing back as he struggled to his feet.

'What's wrong with you?' Ron caught up with Harry at the top of the first flight of stairs, blocking his way. 'Who are those two blokes?'

'Laurel and Hardy.'

'What do they – can I help you with something?'

'What?' Harry looked back over his shoulder and saw that Blackthorn had followed them. He gritted his teeth.

'Ignore him.' He tried to push past Ron.

'Why, who is he?'

'My bodyguard.'

'Your – _what_?'

'Bodyguard.' Harry ground out. 'Hardy here does days, Laurel does nights. The Ministry's got them watching me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, until Voldemort has been destroyed. And if I try to stop them doing their job, I'll be arrested and promptly sent straight to Azkaban.'

Ron's jaw dropped. 'What? What idiot came up with that?'

'Umbridge, of course. And Scrimgeour's right behind her.'

'Well, stuff that. That …'

'Ron! You're Head Boy. You shouldn't be using language like that anymore.' On their way down to the kitchen with their trunks, Hermione and Ginny had arrived in time to hear Ron's colourful description of Umbridge.

'You're never going to guess what the Ministry has come up with this time,' Ron told them as the girls began to look the newcomer over curiously. He quickly explained what was going on. Harry had expected Hermione to be quite startled at this new development but instead she seemed to be even angrier than he was.

'Well, we'll see about that!' She pushed past Blackthorn roughly, knocking him off balance. As he rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, she gave a horrified cry, covered her mouth with her hands, and turned and ran back up the stairs, her trunk left abandoned on the landing.

With an uncertain glance back down at Blackthorn (he was starting to move), Harry hurried up the stairs after her.

He found her coming out of Ron's room with Harry's Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders' Map.

'What –?'

'Shhh.' Hermione glanced past his shoulder as she donned the Cloak. 'I'll sneak these into my trunk in case the Minister wants his people to search yours.'

'Oh, OK. Yeah, that's a good idea. Thanks.' Harry grinned at where she had been.

'See you downstairs,' he heard her whisper as she brushed past him.

Once all students and trunks were gathered in the kitchen, (along with unwanted guests), they began the task of loading everything into two cars from the Ministry. Harry had a feeling Blackthorn's presence had more to do with the loaner than he did, despite it being a blatant attempt at providing as much protection for him as possible. Not that he was complaining. In no time at all, they were pulling up in King's Cross.

Being bustled through the station, his arm gripped tightly by a short, fat man, was not Harry's idea of unobtrusive behaviour, especially since they were starting to attract the attention of the station guards, and he began to wonder just how good these guys were meant to be at their job.

He had just gotten level with the barrier between platforms nine and ten when something slammed hard into his shoulder, knocking him sideways. As he hit the ground, his wand flew out of his hand. He reached for it automatically but, before he moved more than an inch, strong ropes wrapped around his body, pinning both legs together and one arm against his side, the other stretched uselessly towards a pair of expensive, well-polished shoes poking beneath the hem of a dark cloak.

'Take a wrong turn, Potter?' Draco Malfoy's voice tutted as he grabbed Harry's free arm and pressed a bent galleon into his outstretched hand.

Harry's heart pumped with panic; he was bound, wandless and completely at Malfoy's mercy. Where was his stupid bodyguard when he needed him?

'The Dark Lord wants to speak to you,' continued Malfoy as he curled Harry's fingers around the coin. 'Mustn't keep him waiting, must we?'

Harry caught a brief glimpse of a slit hood and mask as colour rushed at him in an explosive kaleidoscope, then he was landing on a hard, stone surface.

He didn't even get a chance to get his breath back. All the warning he got was a familiar voice snarling the word '_Crucio_', then his body was wracked with extreme pain as he writhed like a snake on the cold surface. Laughter erupted around him. Then Malfoy also cried '_Crucio_' and Harry gritted his teeth together against the new lightning bolt of pain but it didn't come. Instead, he heard Malfoy hiss angrily. 'He's _my_ prisoner; _I'm_ the one who brought him for our Master.'

'And you think that makes you special?' the first voice sneered.

'It makes me more special than you,' said Malfoy. 'You told the others he was to be saved for our master but then you just let him go while you escaped. _You_ could have brought him here but you didn't!' Harry could picture the self-satisfied gleam in Malfoy's eyes as he stared down his former Head of House.

'No.' Snape sounded unconcerned. 'I merely stepped into your shoes and carried out the Dark Lord's order to permanently stop Dumbledore being a threat when you proved too weak for the task.'

More laughter echoed around the room but it was much less enthusiastic than when Harry had been tortured. It was almost as though the other Death Eaters (at least, Harry assumed that was who they were) were afraid of Snape. Perhaps his fake assassination of Dumbledore had moved him deeper into Voldemort's circle, after all.

'Bickering, gentlemen?'

Harry's heart froze. All sound and movement around him stopped so suddenly, it was as if someone had cast a Freezing charm. A stillness as cold as winter seemed to penetrate every corner of the room.

'I do not permit dissension amongst my followers. Perhaps you need to be reminded of that fact.' The air around Harry glowed red as both Snape and Malfoy fell to the floor, screaming. More nervous laughter echoed through the room.

'_Silence!_' Voldemort's patience was very thin. 'I trust you have both learned to behave properly,' the cold voice almost hissed. 'Or do I need to continue the lesson?'

'No, Master.' Snape sounded suitably penitent, but Malfoy's reply seemed to be dragged from him letter by letter.

'Then you shall both apologise to each other and we shall then forget this … transgression.'

More tension thickened the air.

'I apologise, Draco, for drawing your attention to your weaknesses.'

Angry silence greeted Snape's words.

'Draco.' Voldemort seemed to be enjoying humiliating Snape and Malfoy. 'We are waiting.'

More silence.

'_Now!_'

Malfoy gave a small yelp; Harry suspected Voldemort had zapped him.

'I'm sorry if anything I said offended you, _Professor_.' Again, it sounded as though the words were being drawn from between Malfoy's lips with utmost reluctance.

'I accept your apology, Draco.' Snape's tone was free of any traces of animosity, anger or even sarcasm. 'And I thank you for accepting my apology.'

Despite Voldemort's insistence that the two combatants kiss and make up, Harry was pretty sure Malfoy was neither sorry for his attack nor had he forgiven Snape for reminding him of his failure to follow orders. If he knew Malfoy, this matter certainly wasn't over. He would find some way to pay Snape back for the humiliation and pain he had just suffered.

'Now that we are all friends again, perhaps you would like to explain exactly why you were disagreeing with Mr Malfoy –'

'He was jealous because _I_ managed to bring you something which he couldn't,' said Malfoy boastfully before Snape could get a word in.

Once again, a nervous titter vibrated through the Death Eaters, punctuated by an air of anticipation that they would get to witness more pain being inflicted upon a hapless victim and relief that the victim was not them. They were not disappointed as Malfoy fell to the floor once more, screaming. Perhaps it was lack of experience or perhaps he felt that, because he was a Malfoy, he was better than his fellows, but he certainly had not learnt how to play this game very well.

Finally, the screams stopped.

'Very well, Draco, since you are so keen to speak for Snape, what is this … _gift_ … you have brought for your master?'

It took a moment for Malfoy to do or say anything; he was probably still trying to recover from the double assault of the Cruciatus curse.

'This!' A hard shoe kicked Harry in the ribs, rolling him towards Voldemort.

'_Well, well, well_,' hissed Voldemort. '_Harry Potter._' Unable to do anything else due to the ropes still wrapped tightly around his body, Harry put as much defiance into his expression as he possibly could as he glared up at those hateful red eyes. 'This is indeed a most unexpected, and extremely pleasant, surprise.

'Do all of you see the gift young Mr Malfoy has brought to your master?' Voldemort commanded the attention of every Death Eater present. 'He has succeeded where the rest of you have failed and brought me the one thing which I desire more than anything else in the entire world. Who would have thought you capable of such an achievement, Draco? I could almost forgive your weakness of June, when you failed to perform a simple task – putting a weak, old man out of his misery.'

The red eyes gleamed as they gazed down at his treasured prize, then closed as he threw his head back, ecstasy spreading across the snake-like visage. 'Let me just take a moment to absorb this happy moment.' Not a sound was heard as Voldemort immersed himself in the warm waters of desire, satisfaction and anticipation that he would finally complete the task he had begun nearly sixteen years earlier.

For the first time since Malfoy had abducted him, Harry felt really scared. Not that he was afraid to die, quite the contrary – he had faced death enough times during his short life – but this was not the way he wanted that life to end. He hadn't said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, nobody would know what had happened to him, and he would be letting Dumbledore down.

Voldemort opened his eyes again and held out one long-nailed hand. 'His wand, if you please, Draco.'

Malfoy just stared at the waiting hand, his pale eyes behind the mask starting to quiver with fear. Voldemort turned his red eyes towards the terrified young man standing beside Harry.

'You did catch his wand when you disarmed our guest.'

Harry wondered why Voldemort would word his request as a statement rather than a question, but a moment later, Malfoy was screaming on the floor again, his mask in Voldemort's hand.

'Do not hide yourself from me, boy. You have no secrets which I cannot discover.' Another jet of red light from the end of Voldemort's wand sent Malfoy sliding across the floor to crash hard into the far wall.

'You let him drop it?' Voldemort was almost whispering, but Malfoy jumped as if it had been an ear-splitting scream. 'What difference does that make?' he added as Malfoy opened his mouth to speak. 'You see, your every thought is mine to know.' The lipless mouth stretched in an evil grin. 'It makes a great deal of difference. Unlike your pathetic young self, I come from an era where manners were valued and the word "gentleman" commanded respect. It would be most ungentlemanly of me not to give our guest a sporting chance. This shall be an important day in the history of wizardkind: my final victory over the once-famous Harry Potter. Would you have the history books say I only succeeded in defeating him because he was defenseless and wandless?' The red eyes narrowed.

Malfoy tried to stammer an answer but seemed incapable of speech and settled, instead, for a nervous shake of his head.

'No,' Voldemort almost purred. 'I want history to record that I vanquished our infamous little friend because I was indisputably the more powerful wizard. And the only way I can prove that is if we duel … properly … wand against wand.'

Still shaking from head to foot, Malfoy threw his own wand at his master's feet. Voldemort glanced down at the thin length of timber and smiled coldly.

'While the offer is to be commended, I am afraid it shall not do. A wizard does not choose the wand, Mr Malfoy, the wand chooses the wizard. Whilst I have no doubt Mr Potter would be able to make a valiant attempt with your wand, Draco, we must not forget that it is _your_ wand, and our young friend would be at a disadvantage. I am afraid it would be ungentlemanly to duel under those circumstances. No, we shall duel against each other with our own wands … or not at all. And your achievement in bringing Mr Potter to me would no longer be worthy of reward. Only punishment.' The red eyes drifted up to meet Malfoy's. 'So you know what to do, don't you? Do not return empty-handed.'

Malfoy looked like he was going to wet himself as he nodded, once more seemingly unable to make his voice work properly. He turned slightly and vanished with a loud _crack_, no doubt returning to King's Cross station to retrieve Harry's wand.

'While we wait for our young friend, let us indulge in a little amusement to prepare the mood for this evening's celebrations,' Voldemort addressed the remaining Death Eaters. 'One of my _loyal_ servants taught Mr Potter here how to fight against the Imperious Curse, so let us play a little game. Let us see how long it takes for one of you to break through Mr Potter's defences and, thus, break _him_. And, as incentive for our friend to put up a good fight and not give up too soon, once one of you has broken him, that one shall then be the first to lead the next round of the game – the Cruciatus curse.'

Hisses of anticipation echoed above Harry as several of the Death Eaters expressed their delight at the chance to inflict pain upon a defenseless victim.

'But do not overdo it,' instructed Voldemort. 'I would have our guest strong enough to stand when he faces his death.' The red eyes flashed triumphantly as he turned and walked away from them, leaving Harry lying bound in the centre of a group of power-thirsty Death Eaters.

Harry had no idea how long he endured the assault; time was sort of swallowed up in the struggle against the blissful numbness of a blank mind. It would have made everything so much easier to succumb to the nothingness and just do the things the Death Eaters were telling him to do, but the memory of Snape's recent Cruciatus helped to keep him focused. Just.

He had tried to keep track of the time by counting the number of attempts he had thwarted, but that didn't really help much. Even allowing only a minute for each turn, they had to have been at it for at least three hours. The only good thing which this achieved was that the Death Eaters seemed to be running out of ideas. Two whom Harry was pretty sure were Amycus and Alecto, the brother and sister who had been on top of the Astronomy Tower in June, had only had the one original thought between them – getting Harry to take off all his clothes. Considering he hadn't been released from Malfoy's ropes, they weren't about to see their wish fulfilled any time soon.

Although he took Harry's resistance against the endless Imperios as confirmation that he would indeed be destroying a great wizard, meaning that he would be an even greater one, Voldemort eventually became frustrated at Malfoy's slow return (Harry wondered if he had run into the bodyguard), and altered the rules of the game, ordering that the Death Eaters' curses were all to be cast non-verbally.

This made it much harder to fight against, as Harry no longer had voices in his head telling him what to do. Instead, he felt an overwhelming desire to do the most ridiculous things, on impulse. Nobody was telling him to do them; he just wanted to do them. They were his ideas, his whims, his needs. He had struggled like crazy to obey the first craving but the ropes wouldn't let him. This had made him aware of the change in tactics and he had concentrated really hard to remember the sensation he was feeling when the second craving built up. Four later, he had the desire pegged.

Then Snape had his turn, and Harry suddenly found himself wanting to give in to the desire to roll over twice to his left and touch his right hand to Malfoy's Portkey which Snape was hiding with his boot.

Harry didn't know what to do. The bent galleon Malfoy had used as a Portkey had slipped from Harry's fingers when he had arrived but he hadn't seen where it had rolled to. Was Snape really standing on it? What if he was trying to trick Harry? What if it was just a trap to upgrade the game to the next level, giving Snape first go at performing the Cruciatus curse again?

Not willing to risk that happening, Harry fought against the desire and stayed lying right where he was. The dark eyes just visible through the mask above him flashed angrily. Harry knew he hadn't heard the last of it. Seven times, Snape forced the desire on Harry as his turn came around and seven times Harry remained unmoved.

Finally, as he went to take his ninth turn since the non-verbal rules were introduced, Snape raised the toe of his left boot. Something gold flashed briefly before the boot once more pressed it into the floor, but it proved to Harry that it was finally time to end the game.

Rolling twice to his left, Harry's hand came to rest on Snape's boot. Hidden by the hem of his robes, the foot moved back and Harry's hand dropped to the floor, the bent edges of Malfoy's coin cutting into his palm.

'Congratulations, Snape.' Voldemort led a round of unenthusiastic applause. Harry would have thought the Death Eaters would be glad that the pointless part of the game had ended; they would be much more successful with the next stage, as well as satisfying their desire for inflicting as much pain as possible. 'You may fire when ready.'

Harry's fingers had only just folded around the Portkey when Snape's curse hit him, almost making him drop his only means of escape. But Snape seemed to have anticipated Harry's lapse for his boot was suddenly on top of his hand, crushing the knuckles beneath its weight.

But only for a moment. As the weight just as suddenly lifted, colour and wind whirled around him, at him, sending him rushing back to Platform nine and three quarters.

'Harry, are you all right?'

Harry kept his eyes closed tight, waiting for the spinning to stop. When he finally opened them, he found that, even though the ropes had disappeared, the spinning had gotten worse; so bad, his stomach seemed to forget which way was down.

'Feel a bit better?' There was that voice again. Even though it was female, it wasn't Hermione or Ginny, but Harry was certain he had heard it before. He tried to remember why it was familiar but the effort made his head explode, causing him to throw up again.

'Obviously not.' The voice sounded amused and sympathetic at the same time. 'Just hang in there, Harry, the Rambleance will be here soon.'

'I don't need an ambulance,' Harry tried to say but his tongue was still revolting against the taste of vomit. He rolled away from the former contents of his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the spinning making him throw up again. He tried to count to ten slowly, but couldn't remember what came after seven. He tried three times but eventually gave up.

Deciding that three sevens had to be more than ten, he risked opening his eyes a crack. A face spun slowly into view.

'What are you doing here?'

Patricia Capsworth smiled down at him. 'Hermione Granger said you missed the train, so I came back to find out what had happened. When I got here, I found Rufus arguing with Delores Umbridge because Blackthorn allowed you to disappear from right under his nose. Neither of them had a clue where you were, but both of them were quite angry that I was trying to interfere. Then one of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters turned up, but neither the Minister nor Delores reacted as they should have. The Death Eater managed to Stun Scrimgeour before I Stunned _him_. Delores got quite a surprise when we unmasked Scrimgeour's attacker. It turned out to be –'

'Malfoy,' groaned Harry.

Capsworth nodded slowly. 'So he did have something to do with your disappearance?'

'He had everything to do with it.' Harry struggled not to throw up again. 'He kidnapped me and took me to Voldemort.'

Capsworth frowned. 'Voldemort had you in his grasp for five hours and he didn't kill you?'

Harry shook his head, then promptly screwed his eyes shut again as the world took yet another funny turn. He tried to clamp his mouth shut but was too late; Madam Capsworth had yet another pool of vomit to clean up. When he could finally breathe again, he answered her properly.

'He didn't even try. He said he wanted us to duel, so he could boast that he had defeated me in proper battle, not just murdered me all tied up, unable to defend myself. That's why he sent Malfoy back here. He wanted me to fight using my own wand so nobody could say I had been unfairly disadvantaged at all. Oh,' he gasped, remembering. 'My wand –'

'It's all right, Harry.' Madam Capsworth held him down. 'It's here, safe and sound.' She gave him a small wink as she pulled back the side of her robes, revealing the handle of Harry's wand. 'So you've just been lying in Voldemort's hideout all this time, waiting for Lucius's son to return?'

'No,' groaned Harry; he didn't trust himself to shake his head. He started to explain about the Imperius Curse but only got part way through when a loud bang almost made him jump out of his skin and a long black vehicle appeared out of nowhere, skidding to a halt beside them. Harry blinked. It was a hearse; it even had a wreathed-topped coffin in the back. Along its side, red letters spelt out the words _St Mungo's Rambleance._

Two wizards wearing blood-coloured robes jumped out, looking like something out of the Spanish Inquisition and, while one proceeded to run an assortment of metal tools over Harry from head to foot, the other grabbed Harry's arm and took his pulse.

'Got a deceased one here, Basil,' he said cheerily to his partner.

'_Deceased?_' Harry was certain he hadn't heard correctly. 'What on earth makes you think I'm deceased?'

'You ain't got no pulse, mate,' the wizard squeezing his arm replied as though nothing could be plainer, not at all perturbed that a dead person was talking to him. 'And not surprising.' He glanced across at Basil's instruments. 'You've been through the wringer, you 'ave. Over three 'undred Imperius – 'ang on, tha' can't be right!' He threw Basil an accusatory glare. 'Your tools on the blink again?'

'Must be, Cyril.' Basil shook a multi-limbed instrument hard, making one of the arms fly off and narrowly miss taking Madam Capsworth's eye out. She snatched the errant tool off him before any more damage could be done.

'Oy!'

'Could we please just get Harry to hospital?' The coolness Patricia Capsworth had used when dealing with Scrimgeour and Umbridge was now being concentrated upon the two Rambleance officers.

''Ospital?' Both men stared at her with amused grins. 'It'll be the morgue for this one.'

'_Will you lot stop saying I'm dead?_'

'Now, now, mate, if we say you're dead, then you're dead.' Cyril patted Harry on the head as Basil packed up his instruments. 'Come on, now, up you get into the back.'

Harry felt like he was back with the Death Eaters. These blokes couldn't be for real. It had to be an aftereffect of all those Imperiuses.

'If Harry is dead,' said Madam Capsworth exasperatedly, 'how on earth is he supposed to sit up?'

Cyril and Basil looked at each other; clearly, this hadn't occurred to them.

'She does 'ave a point, Cyril,' said Basil. The pair of them grabbed one of Harry's shoulders each and pulled him up. Everything spun like crazy again and Harry's stomach reacted violently.

'Easy there, mate.' Neither Rambleance officer seemed too troubled by the fact that Harry had just thrown up all over them, although Basil did seem to have some doubts.

'Ere, Cyril. Are you sure 'e's dead?'

'Course 'e's dead. I told ya, 'e ain't got no pulse. Why?'

'It's just that dead people don' usually go spewing all over everything,' Basil pointed out. 'Maybe we better take 'im to the 'ospital after all.'

Cyril nodded his head slowly. 'Yeah, maybe we better.'

Now that they finally believed they might be dealing with an extremely ill _live_ person rather than a dead body, Cyril and Basil's enthusiasm for the job disappeared faster than a Moke. Harry hoped it was their bitter disappointment which made them treat him so roughly as they loaded him into the back of the Rambleance (the sides of the coffin folded down to reveal a proper ambulance stretcher) and not because this was how they treated every case they were called to.

'What d'you fink you're doin', luv?' Cyril asked as Madam Capsworth went to climb up beside Harry.

'I'm Harry's bodyguard; I don't leave his side.'

'Bodyguard?' Cyril scoffed. 'Not doin' a very good job, are ya? What's he want a bodyguard for, anyways? It's not like he's famous or anyfink.'

Behind Cyril's back, Harry mouthed 'No,' at Madam Capsworth, begging her not to reveal his identity. He could just imagine their reaction if they knew the truth.

Harry could almost have believed he was on the Knight Bus. Not only did the Rambleance jump jerkily from one location to the next with little or no regard for the comfort and welfare of its passengers, but Basil seemed to have gone to the same driving school as Ernie Prang. Harry threw up another three times in the five minutes it took them to get from King's Cross to St Mungo's but Cyril, who was riding in the back with them, merely zapped everything clean, a wide grin splitting his face.

'You're really goin' all out ta prove you ain't dead, aren't ya, mate?'

Harry groaned in response.

Hair plastered to his forehead by perspiration, Harry found himself being wheeled into St Mungo's reception area and parked against a side wall, Basil and Cyril waving a cheery farewell, none the wiser just who it was they had told the hospital staff needed to be taken downstairs.

'One for the morgue, indeed!' The nurse behind the front counter rolled her eyes as Harry groaned. 'Exam room three.' She flicked her wand and Harry's trolley scooted down the corridor, Madam Capsworth trotting along after him.

A middle-aged healer with salt-and-pepper hair and white robes entered Harry's room almost as soon as they arrived. 'What seems to be the problem today, Mr … er … oh dear, we seem to have forgotten to fill in a form at Registration.'

'I would prefer this was kept strictly off the record, thank you, Healer … Smethwyck.' Patricia Capsworth squinted at the name badge pinned to the healer's robes.

'That is most … er … irregular.' Smethwyck's eyes were focused on the wand being pointed at him as he tried to edge closer to the door.

'You will find that this is a most irregular patient.' Madam Capsworth reached out and gently swept Harry's fringe back, leaving his forehead bare.

Smethwyck froze halfway to the door, his gazed fixed on Harry's scar. He glanced up at Capsworth, who gave a single nod of confirmation, then back down at Harry, who also nodded.

He immediately regretted it as the room spun violently again.

'Whoops-a-daisy.' Smethwyck conjured a bucket out of the air and helped Harry roll onto his side. Once his stomach had finished convulsing, Harry rolled back onto the trolley, groaning softly.

Smethwyck shone his wand into each of Harry's eyes in turn, frowning slightly as he mumbled, 'No concussion.' He reached a hand under Harry's head and gently pressed all over his skull. 'No cranial damage.' Then he took out a long straight wand notched from tip to grip into sections, each section engraved with odd symbols around the full circumference of the wand.

'What's that?' Harry had never seen a wand like it before.

'A Diagnostick,' the Healer replied, concentrating on the symbols dialing around the length of wood. He frowned as they clicked to a stop. 'That can't be right,' he murmured softly, still staring at the stick in his hand.

'It's right,' Madam Capsworth told him.

Smethwyck glanced up at her. 'You don't even know what it says.'

'Over three hundred Imperiuses, right?'

'How –?' Healer Smethwyck glanced from Capsworth, who nodded solemnly, to Harry, who groaned again.

'Now do you understand why we need to keep this quiet?' said Madam Capsworth softly. 'If the ones who did this to him learn just how much of an effect they really had, they would think they had won some kind of victory. And they haven't.' She held Smethwyck's gaze, stressing the seriousness of the situation. 'Now, is there anything which you can do to help Harry, please?' She glanced at Harry as he reached for his bucket again. 'I do really need to get him to Hogwarts before it gets too late.'

By the time Smethwyck had finished his ministrations and declared Harry fit enough to be dismissed, night had fallen. The Healer had set a cauldron up in the middle of the floor beside Harry's trolley and brewed an antidote right there in the room. When it came time for Harry to drink the potion, it had taken him seven tries to get it down, not helped at all by the knowledge that its ingredients included four tablespoons of Harry's blood and a quart of his vomit.

'If I ever find myself in that situation again, promise me you'll just perform the Avada Kedavra on me and put me out of my misery?' Harry groaned as the window of Purge & Dowse Ltd department store solidified behind them. While he was once again the picture of health, he could still taste Smethwyck's antidote in the back of his throat. 'I really don't think I could go through that again.'

'Which part?' asked Capsworth. 'The Death Eaters, Rambleance or antidote?'

'All of it.'

His rescuer chuckled.


	11. Chapter 11: Fulstrum and Capsworth

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER ELEVEN –**

**Fulstrum and Capsworth**

Harry stared up at the most beautiful sight in the world: Hogwarts castle. Having Apparated to outside the school gates, both he and Madam Capsworth were being escorted across the grounds by a very disgruntled Mr Filch, who muttered something about routines being disrupted.

When they got inside, Harry understood what he meant. They had somehow managed to arrive before the students.

'Ah, good, Potter,' McGonagall was descending upon them rapidly. 'You've arrived safely. Granger sent an owl ahead to say you had missed the train. Oh, hello, Patricia,' she said to the woman beside Harry. 'The rest of the staff are making themselves comfortable in the Great Hall. If you would like to join them, I shall be with you shortly. I just need to see Potter about a few things first.'

Madam Capsworth's manners were considerably better than McGonagall's as she bowed her head slightly at the headmistress, flashed a very lovely smile at Harry and disappeared through the doors to their right.

'Come with me, Potter.' McGonagall exuded an air which did not invite one to argue with her.

Trotting after her up the marble staircase, Harry was left feeling rather bewildered, wondering what was going on.

When they finally entered through the door with the griffin knocker, he was surprised by the sight of two men standing before the fireplace.

'Dedalus Diggle, isn't it?' Deliberately ignoring the second man, Harry held a hand out to one wearing a purple top hat; he recognised him from the Order of the Phoenix. 'What are you doing here?'

'It's high time you got here,' snapped Horatio Plaxton as Dedalus got all excited that Harry remembered him, plainly not happy that Harry was trying to pretend he wasn't there.

'That's what I wanted to speak to you about, Potter.' McGonagall settled herself behind her desk. 'I have appointed Mr Diggle here as your bodyguard. I understand from Mr Plaxton that the Minister has also appointed him to the same position. Is that correct?'

'According to Umbridge.' Harry continued to glare at Plaxton. 'But I don't need a bodyguard. Any bodyguard.'

'Now, Harry,' McGonagall smiled indulgently. 'You must admit you have managed to get yourself into quite a bit of trouble with You-Know-Who and his followers in the past. As your employer, headmistress and, I would hope, friend, I wouldn't be doing you a very good service if I didn't provide top security for you to make certain you are protected for your final year here. That way you will have the best chance to become a fully qualified wizard. You'll need to do that if you want to be an Auror. Only then will you be in the best possible position to do something about He Who Must Not Be Named if you insist upon continuing with whatever it was you were getting up to with Professor Dumbledore the night he – that night. So, to ensure that you safely make it to that stage – though, with luck, You-Know-Who will have been dealt with by better wizards by then – Alastor Moody shall protect you during the day and Dedalus, here, shall watch over you at night.'

Harry couldn't believe he was hearing this; this was going from bad to worse.

'There shall be absolutely no need for the Ministry to also look out for Harry.' McGonagall turned to Plaxton. 'Both the staff here at Hogwarts and other parties who have Potter's best interests at heart shall manage, between us, to keep him safe. So you may return to the Minister and tell him that Potter no longer has need of your services.'

'I'm afraid you are not in a position to dismiss me. Only the Minister can do that, and it is his wish that _his_ people continue to watch the subject.' said Plaxton smugly.

_Subject?_ Harry felt like he was about to boil.

'I do have a name, you know,' he growled, pleased to see Plaxton jump slightly at the harshness in his voice. '_Harry Potter_! You know, the Boy who Lived, the Chosen One, all that sort of stuff? And despite what you both think, I don't need either of you; not the Ministry, not the Order of the Phoenix and definitely not _you_!' he snapped at McGonagall.

'This year is going to be hectic enough with both studying and teaching, irrespective of what Voldemort's –' (Dedalus gave a small squeak) '–plans for me might be and the last thing I'm going to need will be you lot getting under my feet and constantly tripping me up.'

'But we've been assigned to protect you –'

'Real bang up job you're doing so far.' Harry rounded on Plaxton. 'You haven't even been at it twelve hours and Malfoy already managed to kidnap me from right under your noses and take me straight to Voldemort.'

Plaxton stiffened 'Lucius Malfoy is in – '

'I'm talking about _Draco _Malfoy.'

'Oh. Oh, yes. Him.' Plaxton at least had the grace to look embarrassed.

'Yeah, him. You did get him off to Azkaban, didn't you? Or is your boss as incompetent and corrupt as Fudge was and letting Death Eaters off left right and centre?' Harry was breathing heavily.

Plaxton's expression turned black at the insult to Scrimgeour but, before he could say anything in response, Harry continued.

'Now, if you two are finished trying to run my life for me, I'm going to go get something to eat. I haven't had anything since before Malfoy dragged me off to Voldemort and I'm absolutely starving.'

'How _did_ you manage to get away from your captor?' Plaxton gazed at Harry as though he thought he might be Voldemort in disguise.

'That's none of your business.' Harry felt like he was back before the Wizangamot. 'You aren't running my life for me, remember, or do I go down to the gates right now, Disapparate to God knows where and leave you lot to try to clean up the mess Voldemort is making? Because that's all you'll be able to do – _try_ to clean the mess up. You won't beat him. You don't know how.'

'You mean, because of the prophecy you claimed Dumbledore told you about in the middle of a hurricane, of all things.'

'Yeah, I mean that.'

'Potter,' McGonagall cut in. 'I really don't think you should be discussing this matter with someone from …'

'If you interfere with this investigation any further, Headmistress, I shall have no choice but to arrest _you_. This is a Ministry matter which has got nothing to do with Hogwarts.' Plaxton glared at McGonagall.

'_Investigation_?' McGonagall's brows rose. 'I thought you were supposed to be providing security? And besides, the Ministry has no jurisdiction here; you can't arrest either myself _or_ Potter, especially not for refusing to abide by the Minister's _wishes_.

'As long as Potter is here, he falls under _my_ jurisdiction and _my_ protection. Now, like I said, you may return to Rufus Scrimgeour and inform him that he may rest assured, Potter is quite safe, and shall be until he completes his examinations next June. The Minister will be able to reassign his staff to far more important tasks than breathing down the neck of a mere schoolboy. And, given the times we are presently living in, I'm certain he could use every man he has.'

'The Minister will have something to say about your attitude.' Plaxton didn't look at all happy about the fact that he was being dismissed.

'I'm certain he shall.' McGonagall opened a drawer and removed a small crystal bell, which she rang once before setting it down upon the desk. 'And you may tell the Minister that I look forward to discussing his interference with him.' She looked up as Filch walked in.

'Mr Filch, would you please escort Mr Plaxton down to the gates?'

The old caretaker bowed as low as his rheumatism allowed and held the door for a very irate looking Plaxton.

'Oh, and Argus,' McGonagall continued, 'make certain you lock the gates securely after him. We do not need any more unwanted guests this evening.'

Once the door closed behind them, she turned to Harry. 'Right, now that he is gone, Potter, you may finally do something about that rumbling stomach. And I need to address the students. Dedalus?'

Dedalus took up his post by Harry's right shoulder. Harry, despite being desperate for some food, refused to move.

'I meant what I said before.' Harry glared at McGonagall as she held the door for them. 'I don't want bodyguards from _either_ you or the Ministry. I don't need them. Enough people have died because they got between Voldemort and me. Do you really want me to get more blood on my hands?'

Dedalus Diggle looked slightly alarmed that this job could get him killed.

'Potter –'

'I mean it. I'll leave right now and never come back. And you and Scrimgeour can fight it out between yourselves as to which one of you is more responsible for condemning the wizarding world to an eternity of hell.'

Pushing past McGonagall, Harry ran down the spiralling staircase two steps at a time and raced along the corridor away from the gargoyle, trying to put as much distance between himself and McGonagall as possible. She would probably do her nut later about his behaviour but, hopefully, she would think it was solely because of his reluctance to have even one bodyguard, let alone four, and not because he really wanted to get to Dumbledore's tomb.

The new moon meant that the grounds were totally dark as Harry burst out the front doors and ran towards the lake. Tendrils of mist stretched up the bank, curling around his feet as he collapsed, panting, against the empty white, marble box which was pretending to be Albus Dumbledore's final resting place. He didn't even stop to properly examine the carved bird adorning the cold slab as he wrenched the ruby ring from his finger. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody was watching, Harry stuffed the ring into the sharp-edged socket and activated the Portkey.

_x_

'Professor … Professor ...'

When Harry arrived in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, he found it deserted, and so went leaping up the stairs leading to the entrance hall, calling Dumbledore's name. He had just passed the first landing when Snape stuck his nose out from the drawing room.

'Could you possibly make any more noise, Potter?'

Harry skidded to a halt and glared back at the hateful face. 'What are you doing here?'

The dark eyes roved over Harry. 'I see you have suffered no serious effects from your little … sojourn … today.'

'_No serious_ –'

'The headmaster wishes to speak to you.' Ignoring Harry's protests that the ordeal had been anything but serious, he stepped back. 'After you, Potter.'

There was no way Harry was going to have Snape standing behind him, especially not when the last time the two men had been in the same room, Snape had had his wand pointed at Harry, performing the Imperius curse upon him.

'Oh no. After _you_. This is _my_ house, so you go first.'

Snape's glare grew darker but a faint 'Do as he says, Severus,' from the room behind him saw him obeying Harry's request.

'I'm fine.' Harry answered the question in Dumbledore's eyes before he had a chance to voice it. 'Thanks to a really good Healer at St Mungo's, though I was lucky to survive the Keystone cops in the Rambleance.'

Dumbledore chuckled softly.

'Look, I don't mean to be abrupt,' Harry continued, 'but I need to get back before McGonagall starts searching the grounds for me. I just came to tell you that we could have trouble. Both McGonagall and the Ministry want to put bodyguards on me.'

Dumbledore's brows rose. 'Who?'

'Nigel Blackthorn during the day and Horatio Plaxton at night for the Ministry, Alastor Moody, days and Dedalus Diggle, nights for McGonagall. She's already told Plaxton to get lost but I doubt Scrimgeour will take no for an answer.'

'How long would they be intending to maintain their protection?'

'McGonagall until I finish school, Scrimgeour for the rest of my life.'

'The rest of your life?' Snape sneered. 'Do not flatter yourself that you are that important, Potter. Now, how long does the Minister truly wish to keep you protected from the Dark Lord, or do you wish to make it necessary for me to _coax_ the truth out of you?'

'That will do, Severus,' said Dumbledore softly.

Snape stiffened at the rebuke, but still glared dangerously at Harry.

'OK, Scrimgeour didn't say he was going to keep his people on me for the rest of my life.' Harry returned Snape's glare. 'Just until Voldemort has been destroyed, which amounts to the same thing. The question is what are we going to do about it?' He glanced at Dumbledore, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

'Headmaster, if I may?' Snape sounded calculating; Harry suddenly felt nervous.

Dumbledore nodded slightly.

'Does Professor Slughorn still present sixth-year students with several cauldrons of potions at the start of their first class?' Snape's eyes bored into Harry.

'He did last year.'

'And was Polyjuice one of those potions?'

'Yes.' Harry frowned slightly.

'Then you shall do this. Tomorrow, whilst Professor Slughorn is in the Great Hall eating his lunch, you will pay a visit to the dungeons. Unnoticed.' The dark eyes flashed. 'There, you will extract several pints of potion.' He waved his wand and a large bottle, split into layers, appeared in midair. Snape pointed his wand at the lip of the bottle and black sludge squirted from the end of the wand, filling the bottle, each layer swelling until Harry was certain the glass would break, but it held firm. When the bottle was full, Snape held it out to Harry. 'Replace what you take with this, that way Horace won't notice any missing.'

'He wouldn't notice anyway,' said Harry bitterly. 'Malfoy nicked a whole heap of it last year and he never twigged. Besides, I don't need that. Hermione gave me a bottle of it for my birthday.'

Snape froze. 'Granger successfully brewed Polyjuice?'

'Well, she managed to make it in second year, so it was probably quite simple second time round.'

'Second year?' Snape's lips didn't seem to move.

'Don't sound so surprised, Severus; you know what she's like.' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled up at Snape.

'How will Polyjuice help with the bodyguards?' Harry dragged the conversation back to the matter at hand.

'Use it to get Weasley or Granger to trade places with you when you need to leave Hogwarts unobserved. I'll leave you to work out the finer details between yourselves.'

'And how long do we keep that up?'

'The whole year, if necessary.' Snape smiled grimly. 'So you will need every drop you can lay your hands on.' He forced the bottle into Harry's hands. 'Now, you need to stop wasting the headmaster's time and return to Hogwarts before your absence is noticed.'

_x_

'I thought you said you were hungry.' McGonagall was waiting at the top of the steps leading up to the front door.

'I needed some air.' Harry was still feeling pretty grumpy.

McGonagall's lips thinned. 'Well, you really need to come into dinner now. I have some messages to give out, and your appointment is one of them.' She stepped back to allow him to pass. As they crossed the Entrance Hall, Flitwick came out from the Great Hall carrying a small three-legged stool and an old patched hat.

'Oh, I missed the Sorting.'

McGonagall arched a brow. 'You're the one who chose to go wandering about the grounds, Potter. Nobody held a wand to your head.'

As soon as they entered the Great Hall, Dedalus Diggle immediately crossed the room to Harry's side, so quickly it was like McGonagall had Summoned him. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As he took his seat next to a beaming Hagrid, he noticed Hermione, seated at the Gryffindor table, poke Ron in the ribs and point towards the staff table. Both of them looked extremely relieved.

As expected, McGonagall's announcement that Harry would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts raised several jeers from the Slytherin table, but even the other tables didn't applaud all that loudly. The only ones who seemed to be thrilled about McGonagall's staff choice were former members of the DA, but since Dennis Creevey was the only one who wasn't in sixth or seventh year, Harry wouldn't be teaching them.

One announcement which did surprise Harry was the appointment of a new Transfigurations professor: Patricia Capsworth. That explained why she had been on the Hogwarts Express. Harry had thought she might have been sent by the Ministry to watch him. He wouldn't have minded if she had been a bodyguard; he felt she could have been trusted with secrets.

'So, Harry.' Hagrid clapped Harry so hard on the back he was sure he heard several bones crunch. 'Yer a teacher. Who'da thought?'

'Yeah.' Harry wiped mashed potato from his face as he surfaced from his plate. 'Who'da thought.'

'Now Harry,' Hagrid leant in close, 'jus' a couple o' tips. With the Slytherins. If they try ter cause trouble in class, don' bite. Show yer better than them. Take off points, but only if they actually cheek yeh, no' if they cause strife with th'other kids. An' only give detention as a last resort. Remember, _yeh _have ter supervise, an' there's heaps better things ter do with yeh time 'an watch that lot.'

Harry thought it was a bit rich, Hagrid giving him advice about how to handle Slytherins, especially when he had allowed himself to be knocked off-centre by a Slytherin in his very first class. Preferring to focus on his meal, he concentrated on what Hagrid was saying just enough to be able to grunt and nod at the right intervals and fool Hagrid into believing he was still listening properly, though he did notice that there seemed to be something metal rattling under the table. It was only when the word 'present' filtered through, making him choke on his pudding, that Harry finally gave Hagrid his full attention.

'What?' he sputtered, trying to clear his throat. 'What present?'

Hagrid reached under the table and pulled out a rusty cage full of small blue creatures.

'Aren' they beau'iful?' Hagrid's beetle-black eyes misted behind the tangle of hair and beard 'They'll be perfect fer givin' yeh second years summat ter practise on.' He didn't seem to notice the look of pure revulsion on Harry's face as he plonked the large cage in the middle of Harry's dessert just as everybody started to get up from their seats, ready to head upstairs.

'Hagrid!' Harry had to raise his voice to get Hagrid to hear him through his own talking. 'I need to go now, OK?'

Hagrid broke off, a hurt expression on his face. 'Don' yeh like 'em?'

Harry tried to keep all traces of disgust out of his voice as he held the cage at arms length. 'They're great, Hagrid; the perfect gift.'

'Then why d'you have ter go?'

'Ron and Hermione?' Harry nodded towards the door. Hagrid turned in time to see them disappear out to the Entrance Hall.

'Oh.' Hagrid seemed unable to come up with an argument as to why Harry shouldn't chase after his friends, though he still looked crestfallen that Harry didn't want to keep learning teaching tips from him.

Taking advantage of the lull in the conversation, Harry joined the crowd slowly pressing its way through the door.

'Potter, what on earth have you got there?'

Harry pulled up at the sound of McGonagall's voice.

'Cornish pixies.' He grimaced at her over the cage. 'Hagrid gave them to me as a present.'

'Cornish pixies?' McGonagall looked aghast. 'Aren't they the creatures Professor Lockhart let loose in one of his classes years ago?'

Harry nodded sadly. McGonagall eyed the cage with increased horror and disgust.

'Well, I don't care if Hagrid gave them to you or not, you are _not_ keeping them!' She waved her wand and both pixies and cage vanished.

Past McGonagall's shoulder, Harry saw Hagrid stop mid-stride; he had been making his way over to them, no doubt to rhapsodise upon the advantages of Harry owning such 'beau'iful' creatures, but now his proud grin rapidly changed through stunned shock to thunderous anger as he pushed past McGonagall so hard she almost knocked Harry over.

Wanting to avoid any further delays as several teachers rushed to their aid, Harry quickly excused himself and finally escaped to the Entrance Hall just as Filch locked the front doors behind Hagrid.

Not quite sure how he was going to get rid of Dedalus, Harry tiredly made his way up to Gryffindor Tower. It was when he finally saw the Fat Lady grinning at him slyly, that he finally thought of a way, for tonight at least.

'So, who's moving up in the world, eh, _Professor _Potter?'

'Remind me how that works with regards to you, please?' Harry threw her his most winning smile, anxious to get her very much on his side.

'Even though I set the password, as a professor, you can change it at any time, providing you notify the Head of House within twenty-four hours.'

'And what about the headmistress?'

'Oh, that goes without saying. Of course she is kept updated at all times.'

Harry frowned, thinking. If McGonagall was made aware of any change the instant it happened, it would counteract the reason for the change. 'Can you stop people from getting in, even if they do know the password?'

'What, you mean like that trouble with Sirius Black a few years back?'

'Yeah, something like that?'

'No. Why, who were you wanting to keep out?'

Harry stepped right up to the portrait so that his nose was almost touching the canvas.

'See the man standing behind me?' he whispered.

'Why are we whispering?'

'Because I don't want him to hear what we're saying.'

'Oh, all right. Yes, I see …' Her eyes widened. 'What's _he_ doing here?'

'Do you know him?'

'_Know_ him? He tried to set fire to Violet years ago as a prank. He lost Hufflepuff a _lot_ of points because of it and was in detention for over a month but Dumbledore wouldn't expel him, though.' The colour in her face grew red as she glared murderously over Harry's shoulder at the person who had tried to damage the portrait of a wizened witch which hung in a room behind the staff table in the Great Hall; the Fat Lady and Violet were long-time friends.

'So does that mean you won't let him into the common room, even if he knows the password?' Harry felt a small tingle of hope.

'I wouldn't let him in even if he knew every password ever set,' the Fat Lady growled. 'Even without the fact that he's not a Gryffindor and never has been, there's still the matter of Violet.'

'Good.' Harry grinned.

'What's he doing here anyway?' she asked, still eyeing Dedalus.

'He's supposed to be guarding me for McGonagall, but I don't need guarding. McGonagall won't listen, though.'

'But if Professor McGonagall thinks you need –'

'Look, it's going to be bad enough tripping over bodyguards through the rest of the school, this is one place I'd like a bit of space for myself, to be myself. McGonagall may have given me a teaching job, but I'm still a student underneath it all. I'd like to be able to act like one. Understand?'

The Fat Lady gave him a knowing wink. 'I've seen enough students come through this door to know that they have their own particular style when it comes to letting their hair down. I quite like to do that myself from time to time … Christmas and such, you know.'

Harry knew only too well, remembering the hangover she had suffered after she and Violet drank their way through several vats of wine in a five hundred year old portrait of some monks.

'Very well, _Professor_,' she said. 'This tower is definitely off limits to that one.' She winked again as she swung open. Harry wasn't sure how she was going to stop Dedalus Diggle following him, but he had barely stepped through the opening when the portrait slammed shut against his back with a loud bang, making both himself and everyone still in the common room jump at the noise.

It wasn't until he had collapsed into an armchair in front of the fire and glanced around that Harry realised someone was missing.

'Where's Hermione?' Harry was surprised she wasn't busily bossing students around like Ron.

'She said she needed to get something from outside.' At least Ginny seemed concerned.

'Don't worry about her,' Ron seemed to be relishing being Head Boy as he bundled the first-years off to bed. 'She'll be back in minute.'

'No, she won't.' Harry informed him. 'Filch just locked the doors.' He leaned close to Ginny and spoke softly. 'Can you nick up to Hermione's dorm? She's got the Marauder's Map in her trunk. I need it. Now.'

'Why can't you get it?' Ron wanted to know as Ginny disappeared through the door leading upstairs.

Harry frowned up at him. 'Because it's on the girls' side. Remember what happened last time we tried to go up to her room?' he said, reminding Ron of the helter-skelter which the stairs had turned into.

When Ginny returned downstairs with the Marauders' Map, Harry examined it closely, then strode over to the fireplace and grabbed a fistful of glittery powder from a jar on the mantel.

'Hey, only the Head Boy and Girl can use that!'

'And teachers.' Harry stopped Ron's approach as he tossed the powder into the fire.

'Hagrid, could you tell Hermione I want a word?' he shouted.

A moment later, a large, spinning shape appeared in the flames, then Hermione stepped out onto the hearthrug.

'What did you want to see Hagrid about?' Ron demanded before she barely had a chance to draw breath.

'I didn't specifically go to see him.' Hermione sighed as she collapsed into an armchair. 'I only went to his hut because Filch locked the doors and I didn't know what else to do.'

'So why did you go outside?' asked Harry as he folded up the Map.

'To get this,' she said, pulling out a very old wand. 'McGonagall told me I'd have to turn in my badge if I didn't get one … and fast. She apparently didn't realise that mine had been broken until Professor Capsworth told her over dinner.'

'But Harry fixed your wand with one of his wishes,' said Ron.

'Yeah,' Ginny was watching them, puzzled, 'I gave it to you when you were at Headquarters, remember?'

'And it promptly got broken when we were trying to fight off Dementors in Godric's Hollow,' said Hermione.

Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances.

'And that's what you were doing outside, getting yourself a … well, it's not exactly a _new_ wand, is it?' Ginny struggled not to laugh at Hermione's choice of equipment.

'Yes.'

'What, Hagrid just happened to have a spare wand lying around?'

'I told you, Ron; I didn't go outside to see Hagrid,' fumed Hermione. 'I went out to search the grounds.'

'Huh?'

'So where did you find the wand?' Ginny eyed it curiously.

'Near the base of the Astronomy Tower.'

'No.'

Hermione grinned as she nodded at Harry.

'What is it?' Ginny was watching Harry, clearly wondering what was significant about a lost wand.

'It's Dumbledore's wand.' Harry reached out a hand to reverently touch it.

'What?' yelled Ron, earning a reproachful glare from Hermione. 'No. No way. McGonagall'll never let you keep it. She'll want to store it in the trophy room or something.'

'Only if she realises whose it is. I'd say she's forgotten all about it or she would have collected it herself by now. It has been nearly three months, after all.'

'I'm surprised Hagrid didn't find it.' Ginny stared at the wand.

'I don't think he's been doing his job very well,' Hermione explained. 'It looked almost wild outside. And there are several empty barrels outside his hut. I think Dumbledore's death hit him pretty hard,' she sighed as she stood up, jerking her head ever so slightly towards Ginny.

Ron had obviously been about to say something, but visibly back-pedalled as he remembered his sister. 'Er … yeah … he would be pretty emotional, wouldn't he.'

'So, have you checked out your new room yet, Harry?' Hermione asked as she stowed the wand inside her robes.

Harry frowned at her. 'What new room? We've been in the same one for the past six years,' he said, referring to the dormitory he had shared with Ron, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. 'They just keep changing the number on it.'

'That's the seventh-year dorm, sure. But you've got your own room now.'

'Why?'

'Because you're a teacher. Don't worry, you're not unique; Ron and I get our own rooms too because we're Head Boy and Girl.'

Ron beamed appreciatively in the background.

Harry barely had a chance to ask, 'OK, so where are these new rooms?' before he found himself being dragged upstairs, Ron and Hermione each pulling an arm as he followed in confusion, Ginny bringing up the rear.

'That's my room there.' Hermione pointed at one of three doors at the top of the stairs.

'And this is _my_ room.' Ron dragged Harry through a second door, proudly showing off his room. Although it was smaller than their dormitory had been, the bed looked like it was twice the size of the ones they had spent six years sleeping in. The bedding was also much better, with silk sheets instead of cotton. The quilt was twice as thick and when Ron pushed Harry onto the bed, instead of bouncing, he sank into what felt like a real feather bed made of the finest, softest feathers available.

'Leave him alone, Ron,' Hermione scolded. 'Let him see his own room.

Finally making it to the third door, Harry stepped across the threshold … and almost sank back against the door in shock. This … this couldn't be _his_. It just _couldn't_ be.

Larger than Ron's room, although the bed seemed to be the same size, it contained everything Harry could possibly wish for. To one side was a small kitchenette so he could make late night snacks without disturbing the house-elves, three of the walls were lined with shelves full of what looked like every book every written about fighting the Dark Arts (Hermione was gazing towards them covetously), an antique desk stood beside the window, stocked with a ready supply of parchment, quills and ink, and the bed …

Harry took a running leap and landed in the middle of the bed's cushioned warmth. It was like diving into a heated swimming pool. If this was how the teachers lived, then he just might consider a change of profession. Aurors couldn't possibly live better than this.

After Ron had sent Ginny to bed ('I love being Head Boy'), the three friends talked long into the night. The first thing Ron wanted to know was what had happened to Hermione's wand that she needed to use Dumbledore's.

'I gave mine to Dumbledore the night we went to Godric's Hollow,' Hermione explained almost dismissively, as if she considered the matter of no consequence; there were far more important things to discuss. Four of them. They all agreed that, of all of the bodyguards, Moody would be the hardest to get around and Hermione even went so far as to suggest they not even try.

'Why on earth would Harry want to play along with all of this?' Ron stared at her, aghast.

'Because if he doesn't, he'll only make Professor McGonagall and the Minister work twice as hard to find out what he's up to.' Hermione stared back. 'And really, when you think about it, for the most part it's not even a problem. It's only when Harry wants to do something about the Horcruxes that it's going to be less than convenient having a shadow glued to his back.'

Ron glanced across at Harry and gave a weak laugh. 'Less than convenient, she says.' He gazed back at Hermione. 'It's going to be a lot worse than less than convenient!' he almost shouted, making her jump. 'You managed to get all those Outstandings in your OWLs and the only idea you can come up with is for Harry to play along?' He stood up angrily.

'It's OK, Ron.' Harry grabbed his leg and dragged him back down. 'She's right. This is feasible. We just need to plan it right.'

'OK,' Ron gazed at them expectantly, 'how do we do this?'

'Well, first, we need to get the extra Polyjuice potion like Professor Snape said.'

Ron stared at Hermione. 'You really want to do what _Snape_ said?'

She ignored him.

'Obviously, I'm out,' said Harry. 'Moody will definitely be watching me.'

'With one eye at least,' agreed Ron. 'Do you think he'll watch us too?' He looked anxious.

'If not, we can always make him.'

Ron's expression grew more incredulous. 'Why would we want him watching us as well?'

Hermione sighed patiently. 'How many eyes does Professor Moody have?'

'Two.' Ron looked like he couldn't believe Hermione would ask so obvious a question.

'And how many of us are there?' she continued.

'Three.'

'Exactly! So we keep Moody's eyes focused on _two_ of us while the third person sneaks down to the dungeons.'

It was an idea which just might work, thought Harry, nodding slowly as Ron's face started to return to its normal colour. Some more nutting it out between them and it was a plan. As Harry said goodnight to the others and climbed into bed, he finally felt like he would be able to get the better of Umbridge and McGonagall.

At seven o'clock next morning, he was woken by McGonagall's voice echoing from his fireplace.

'Potter, meet me in my office immediately.' She didn't sound pleased. Harry took a deep breath to calm his nerves. It was time to face the music.

'You wanted to see me, Professor?' Harry asked after McGonagall bid him enter. Despite the early hour, she already had company. Harry glared coldly at both Blackthorn and Moody.

'Why did you order the Fat Lady to bar Dedalus entry to Gryffindor Tower?' McGonagall began without preamble.

'I didn't order her; she did that herself!'

'Why would she do something like that?'

'Because he's a Hufflepuff.' Harry would have thought that was obvious.

'He's not a student!'

'He used to be.' Harry stubbornly stared her down. 'And that's good enough for the Fat Lady.'

McGonagall continued to stare at him with a penetrating look but seemed, after a moment, to realise that she would need to take the matter up with the Fat Lady rather than Harry because she changed the subject.

'And Mr Blackthorn here apparently has a warrant for your arrest.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'What for?'

'Refusing to allow appointed Ministry officials to guard you against malicious attacks.' stated Blackthorn smugly.

'You mean like the malicious attack yesterday?'

Blackthorn flushed angrily.

'Anyway,' Harry continued, 'I'm not the one who sent Plaxton home; McGonagall did that.'

Blackthorn looked at the headmistress.

'As I told Plaxton to tell the Minister,' McGonagall explained, 'there is no need for _four_ people to watch over Harry; the two whom I have assigned shall be sufficient.'

Blackthorn bristled. 'Irrespective of whether you believe your people are up to the task or not, an order has been issued by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which states that if Plaxton and myself are prevented from executing our duty, then the subject shall be immediately incarcerated.'

'That's only if _I_ stop you. McGonagall's the one who's telling you to get lost, not me!' Harry glared at Umbridge's lapdog.

Blackthorn didn't seem at all bothered by this fact. 'Nevertheless, I have the warrant here …' He waved a sheet of parchment in Harry's face.

'May I see that, please?' McGonagall held out a hand. For a moment, Harry thought Blackthorn was going to refuse but, with a scowl, he allowed the parchment to change hands. McGonagall spent a couple of minutes reading over the warrant, the line which was her mouth growing thinner as each second ticked by. Finally, she closed her eyes and gave a small sigh of defeat.

'Very well. I'm sorry, Potter, but they stay. I would rather have you here where I know you're safe than in Azkaban where You-Know-Who can easily gain access to you.'

'He Who Must Not Be Named can't get into Azkaban!' Blackthorn cried indignantly. 'It's a prison. He wouldn't dare, he'd be too afraid.'

'That's why he managed to remove ten top-security prisoners from right under your noses.' Moody's grizzly-looking mouth stretched in a gruesome grin.

'Get one thing straight right now,' Harry shouted. 'Voldemort isn't afraid of you or Scrimgeour or anybody at the Ministry. He practically _owned_ the Ministry for years. The only – and I mean _only _– person Voldemort was ever afraid of was Dumbledore. Now he's dead, do you really think he's going to find somebody new to be scared of? He's not even afraid of me!'

'That will do, Potter,' McGonagall ordered. 'Now, if you gentlemen wouldn't mind waiting outside for a minute, I'd like to have a word with Harry about his timetable.'

Moody started to move towards the door but, when Blackthorn didn't move, he stopped.

'Come on; Potter's not in any danger from McGonagall.'

Blackthorn still refused to budge. Moody gave an angry growl, grabbed Blackthorn by the shoulder and roughly shoved him through the door, slamming it behind them.

'Now, Harry, about your timetable.' McGonagall took a sheet of parchment out of the top drawer of her desk and passed it to him. 'As you can see, as well as your teaching duties, I have also arranged for you to take Potions with the regular seventh-year class. I think you would be safer in a group.' She leaned closer and lowered her voice. 'Personally, I would prefer you didn't do Potions at all but, since you are determined to be an Auror, you need to study it.'

'What,' Harry stared at her in disbelief, 'you think Professor Slughorn wants to poison me?'

'Poison you, no. But I don't think it would be wise for you to be alone with Horace – he has been champing at the bit, eager to be seen as your friend and confidant, no doubt to raise his own status, as well as enticing profitable information and gossip out of you. He does have some expensive habits to support.'

When she put it that way, it would be better to have company when dealing with the portly professor.

'Even with bodyguards in the background,' she continued. 'I don't doubt that Horace would spend any time alone with you boasting about all of the famous people he has known as well as attempting to glean information from you concerning your plans. Very little, if any, actual teaching would get done. No, you will definitely be safer if you study that subject, at least, with the actual class. That way you might learn something. Since it would reflect badly on his reputation, Horace wouldn't risk having the entire class fail.

'As for your other subjects, which you can see marked on the page there, you will do them as two-hour tutorials, one each night from Monday to Friday, starting next Monday. That way you have a week to get settled into half of your routine before you have to handle the whole lot.'

'Does that include Potions?'

'Yes.'

Harry gazed at the page doubtfully. It didn't leave him much time for homework or correcting. And as for Quidditch …

'I know it's a very tight schedule, Potter, but I'm certain you will manage it. If, come next June, you do not feel you are adequately prepared for your N.E.W.T. examinations, I have made arrangements with the examiners for you to delay sitting them until the end of August, so you can continue intensive studies over the summer, if you need to.' McGonagall spared him a rare smile before straightening up further.

'As for the Minister's guards, just try to endure them. If you don't do anything untoward, and give them nothing to use against you, you should have no trouble with them. Do that and you will find that they are no more than a slight inconvenience.'

Harry needed to ask McGonagall for the definition of the term 'slight inconvenience'. On his way downstairs, he was alarmed when both men followed him into the bathroom though, fortunately, they didn't join him in the cubicle. (Blackthorn had insisted that Harry sing the Hogwarts school song at the top of his voice to let them know he was still safe behind the locked door and hadn't been spirited away by Death Eaters.)

In the Great Hall, Blackthorn caused further problems by trying to search every student sitting at the Gryffindor table until McGonagall intervened and told Harry to move to the teachers' table. Things didn't improve there because Blackthorn then tried to arrest Hagrid as a potential threat to Harry's safety because he was part giant. Once again, McGonagall stepped in and said it might be best if Harry no longer ate meals in the Great Hall, making a point of asking Blackthorn very loudly (so everybody could hear her) if her office would be considered a safe enough environment for Harry to eat in or would he prefer Harry not eat at all, thereby doing You-Know-Who a favour by starving Harry to death. As Blackthorn demanded to know if she had just accused him of being in league with Voldemort while Moody smirked in the background, Harry sighed exasperatedly and pushed his chair back from the table.

His stomach growling steadily louder with each step, he trudged his way back up to McGonagall's office where he only got to eat a small amount of all the food which magically appeared on a tray on McGonagall's desk. Moody seemed satisfied that a small sample of each dish was sufficient for him to sample for poisons (Harry was surprised he would place himself in such potential danger) but, partly not to be outdone by Moody and partly because he believed Moody was deliberately trying to trick Harry, Blackthorn insisted on eating everything which remained after Moody's taste tests, leaving Harry with nothing to eat. It was only after Blackthorn had eaten so much he was almost sick that Harry was finally able to get a look in.

Unfortunately, the bell rang for class a moment later so, stomach still rumbling, he found himself being almost dragged to his feet by the two men, each of whom seemed determined to prove that _he_ was the better bodyguard by being the one to get Harry to class on time.

Harry took a couple of deep, calming breaths as he gazed at the group of Hufflepuffs in front of him. Since he had entered the room, not one eye had been focused on him. Every one of them was staring in fear at the two men constantly bumping against each other in an effort to be between their opponent and Harry. Because they were first-years, none of the students had seen Moody before and, understandably, found his appearance quite alarming, with his mismatched eyes, wooden leg and half-missing nose.

Clearing his throat nervously, Harry struggled to drag his students' attention away from his bodyguards and back to where it should be … on him.

He began by taking the register, trying to remember which faces belonged to which names, then set to work going through the first chapter of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. The good thing about teaching first-years, he didn't have to worry about repeating previously learnt work or missing gaps caused by previous, incompetent teachers. They were all blank canvasses waiting to be turned into masterpieces, entirely trusting that Harry would guide them through this new and (apparently) alarming world, ensuring that when they set foot outside Hogwarts, they would be able to defend themselves against any and all dark magic which they stumbled upon.

Eagerly pouring over the textbook (though the occasional eye did glance furtively towards Moody and Blackthorn), they began to work their way through Harry's first lesson as an official teacher.

He wished he could say his second lesson was just as successful. A fourth-year class of Ravenclaws, Harry found himself very much challenged to keep his students minds from wandering. Remus had warned him that Ravenclaw would keep him on his toes, but he hadn't really believed it until now. It was like teaching a roomful of Hermiones.

Almost from the beginning of the class, the girls let him know he was covering old ground by spending their time passing notes back and forth under the desks. Harry didn't notice what was going on until a third of the way through the lesson.

Lesson number three – a group of second-year Slytherins – was the worst of the day, helped greatly by an unexpected and very unwelcome interruption. Three quarters of the way through the double period, a loud noise outside the door snatched everyone's attention away from the lesson. Moody exchanged an uncertain glance with Blackthorn and started to move towards the door, his wand suddenly in his hand. While he was grateful for the extra protection, Harry's first concern was the safety of his students, even if they were Slytherins, and quietly told them to stand and move away from their desks, but before he could get any further instructions out, the door slammed open with a loud bang. Moody quickly got off a hex but, just as quickly, it was deflected, sending him flying into the wall. Harry blinked. Unless he needed new glasses, it was Blackthorn who had just fired that shield charm. Why was Blackthorn attacking Moody? And why wasn't he protecting Harry?

Rushing to Moody's aid, Harry tried to keep his wand pointed at both Blackthorn and the newcomer as his eyes roved over the stranger who had just given the Slytherins the distraction they craved.

A middle-aged man of medium height, he had fair hair which looked like he had tried to wash it with mud, a deep scar down one side of his face, tracing down his neck (very close to his jugular) and disappearing beneath the collar of his cloak, unshaven bristles sprouting around his chin, and a small snout of a nose. His clothes looked like they had come straight out of a Charles Dickens movie, though the lace cuffs didn't hide the fact that his left hand was missing. His eyes glanced blearily around the room before settling on the young man pointing a wand at him. The hatred filling the two very bloodshot eyes was akin to that which filled Voldemort's eyes every time he looked at Harry. As the man stepped into the room, dragging his left foot slightly, Harry screwed up his nose at the reek of cigar smoke and oranges.

'What are you doing here?' Moody was also glaring with hatred, but at the unknown intruder. 'I didn't think you could make it until after lunch.'

It seemed a very strange thing to say.

'What?' Harry risked taking his eyes off the stranger to glance down at Moody. 'Who is he?'

'Someone who doesn't like to do his job properly,' growled Moody, still glaring at the man who could almost have been his double. 'Stanwick Fulstrum.'

'So you're Dumbledore's little darling, are you?' Harry thought Fulstrum must have swallowed a file, his voice rasped so hard. He cast a scathing eye over Moody as he scraped his foot across the wooden floorboards, but mostly his attention was taken by Harry.

As Moody finished struggling to an upright position, Harry frowned at Fulstrum, wondering what he had done to earn this particular Ministry employee's antagonism.

'So you're the one who thinks he's so much smarter than the Ministry because _you_ saw You-Know-Who come back and nobody else did.' The sneer seemed to be permanently fixed to his face. 'Didn't do a very good job stopping him, did you?' He continued to pace around Harry, the foot dragging across the floorboards.

'Achieved a lot in your short life, haven't you?' Harry couldn't understand why Blackthorn didn't try to prove he was a better bodyguard than Moody and shut this chap up. 'You got Amos Diggory's son killed, saw He Who Must Not Be Named come back to life, or so you say, and made us look bad at our jobs,' he jabbed his chest with his thumb, 'because _you_ managed to lure You-Know-Who's most loyal supporter – a mass murderer – out of hiding. Surely all of that would be plenty for the average schoolboy. But not you. Not the Chosen One. No, you have to go and get the Minister fired as well. All the while bleating about how you were the one who was hard done by.

'Look at you, standing there, stupid scar on your head. Think that makes you special? Well think again, boy. There's nothing special about someone who can't even walk two steps without others making sure your path is clear. Bodyguards. Who do you think you are, the lead singer of the Weird Sisters?'

The Slytherin students cheered and gave a round of applause at this assessment of Harry's achievements.

Harry had to work very hard not to throw a dozen of Vindictus Viridian's best hexes at Fulstrum as his hatred of the grotesque man circling him rapidly matched that of the Auror.

Fulstrum sneered at Moody again. 'Still getting in the way of _official_ business, I see. Though I have to admit I'm surprised you let yourself be roped into this job. Definitely puts you in the firing line if all the stories are true about You-Know-Who being after this one. Would've thought you'd be too chicken for that, _Mad-Eye_.'

'What did you call me?' growled Moody; Harry fought to hold him back. 'How dare you call me chicken? I'm not the one who's been going around arresting the weakest people he can find and passing them off as Death Eaters to make himself look big and brave. I'm not the one who's landed himself a second job so he'll only have time for administrative duties rather than being out there in the field, fighting the hard fight. And I'm not the one who's so scared of Harry that he can only attack him verbally … and only with backup.' The artificial electric-blue eye swivelled to glare straight at Blackthorn hovering behind Fulstrum.

More cheers from the Slytherins. It seemed they weren't completely supportive of Fulstrum, just his opinion of Harry. He was a teacher, he wasn't Snape and he wasn't taking off marks. The Slytherins were in mischief heaven.

But even if Fulstrum wasn't in a hurry to lessen Slytherin's chance of winning the House Cup, Harry felt no such reluctance.

'Sit down and be quiet, all of you!' he shouted at the class, still watching Fulstrum closely. 'And five points from each of you for demonstrating your belief that teachers don't deserve respect.'

This led to another outburst, as they didn't believe Harry had the right to deduct points.

'And any more noise and it will be detention.'

'Oh, excellent demonstration, Professor Prima Donna. Picking on students because they're not in _your_ house,' said Fulstrum smugly, trying to bait Harry. 'Now, let's see if you can top it off by overdoing it with their homework.'

Harry was hating this man more and more with each passing second. He was very tempted to take him up on his offer of heaps of really hard homework, but he would only be giving Fulstrum exactly what he wanted. And this bloke didn't deserve that.

'Don't bite, lad,' Moody's voice muttered in Harry's ear.

Harry's head was throbbing as he stared at this hateful man in front of him, the scar shining slightly in the light. He was _very_ tempted to give the Slytherins what they deserved, but then he would have to correct it all. Why should he punish himself?

Making up his mind to give the class the original homework he had planned for after this lesson, he walked away from Fulstrum and began writing the essay topic on the blackboard, but before he could finish, the bell rang for lunch.

'Too late.' Fulstrum gave a raspy chuckle. It was one of the least amusing sounds Harry had ever heard. 'Shouldn't have let your shadow get into lengthy discussions on how much better than me he reckons he is.'

He began to drag his foot towards the door, allowing the jeering, homework-free Slytherins to follow him down to lunch.

On their way back up to McGonagall's office to have yet another extremely light meal, they had just passed the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower when Harry noticed Moody's eye swivel back into his head as if looking at something at the top of the stairs.

'What?' Blackthorn glared at Moody as his step faltered. He followed Moody's gaze up the stairs. 'There's nothing there!' he snapped. 'Keep jumping at every shadow you see and people will start to think you're a toad. Now come on, I'm hungry.'

He roughly shoved Harry ahead of him. Harry couldn't help notice that was twice now that there had been a possible danger and both times Blackthorn had put Harry between himself and that danger. He probably should have been worried about it, but he was too busy worrying about what Moody had seen. With any luck, it had been Ron hidden under Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

They had planned it last night. Ron would walk up and down the seventh-floor corridor, looking to someone who could see through Invisibility Cloaks as though he was trying to open the Room of Requirement, occasionally stamping his foot in frustration as the Room remained hidden. It was sure to intrigue Moody and keep his artificial eye focused in that direction. The other eye would, of course, be watching Blackthorn as he ate all of Harry's lunch on him.

Which meant that, with luck, nobody would notice Hermione wander down to the dungeons. Even though she wasn't invisible, if she was seen, she could easily say she was missing an ingredient from her kit and was going to replace it from the store cupboard. A perfectly legitimate reason to be in the Potions classroom and, being Head Girl _and_ a model student, nobody would suspect otherwise.

Or so Harry hoped. He wouldn't find out if they managed to pull it off until after lunch. He had arranged for Hermione to have a certain book on top of the stack she was working from when he went to the library after lunch, since his last two periods were free. Thank goodness. He needed to correct the mini tests he had given the Ravenclaws to try to find out what they did and didn't know.

So, once again starving after what should have been a very filling meal, he led his entourage down to the library. As he entered, his eyes scanned the tables for his partner in crime, spotting her near the end of the fifth row. Hermione glanced up as he moved towards her.

'You haven't got any homework back yet, surely?' She sounded almost hurt at the idea that another student could get their homework done faster that she could.

'Not exactly,' Harry replied. 'I gave the Ravenclaws a test to find out where they're up too.'

A wicked grin spread across her face. 'Foolish.'

'Tell me about it,' said Harry, casting a quick eye over the stack of books beside her and working hard to hide his delight; she had gotten the potion. 'Though I don't look like I've got as much to do as you.'

'Oh, this isn't homework,' she assured him. 'I just wanted to look up something Professor Vector mentioned. He was rather light on details.'

Blackthorn picked up the top book and examined the cover. 'Where did you get this book?' He eyed Hermione suspiciously.

'Over there.' Hermione pointed a finger over her shoulder. She could have been pointing at any one of three rows of shelves. 'Madam Pince got it for me.'

Blackthorn's eyes narrowed as they sought the offending librarian. 'We'll see about this.'

'What was wrong with that book?' Harry asked uncertainly as Blackthorn stalked over to an unsuspecting Madam Pince.

'It was one of the ones which Umbridge tried to ban last year.'

'What ones?'

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's ignorance. 'It was in the _Prophet_ about six months ago. Umbridge compiled a list of books which mention you as a hero and tried to ban them but the Minister voted against her. I think it was because he's still hoping that you'll come over to his way of thinking one day and he probably saw banning those books as a surefire way to stop that from ever happening.' She shrugged. 'Whatever the reason, I thought it would be a good way to get your mate over there in strife with Madam Pince and get himself banned from the library. At least then you'll have one place you can go without him glued to your elbow.' She grinned as, in the background, Blackthorn found himself being unceremoniously dragged from the library, Madam Pince's harsh shriek making the shelves shake.

Harry winked at her as he headed over to a window seat to begin an afternoon of correction, silently wondering if there was anything Hermione could do to get rid of Moody as well.

Unfortunately for Harry, despite the setback of the library, his two daytime guards seemed to have taken it upon themselves to not only protect him from possible attacks by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but also each other. Highly suspicious of the Ministry's motives for keeping such a close watch on Harry (as well as taking it as a personal insult that Scrimgeour didn't think he could do his job properly) Moody had all but glued himself to Harry, determined to keep himself between Harry and Blackthorn who, in turn, was just as adamant that Moody was a Death Eater in disguise and tried to arrest him.

Blackthorn further impeded Harry's efforts when it came to teaching by claiming the students were not permitted, under Ministry Law, to learn the defensive charms Harry had outlined in his lesson plans and kept shouting at the students each time one of their hands so much as twitched in the direction of their wands, threatening them with arrest. It was worse than having Umbridge back.

Thanks to the Slytherins spreading what Fulstrum had said about the Weird Sisters, the presence of bodyguards raised Harry to a level resembling that of a rock star and life became very difficult to live. Dozens of giggling, camera-bearing students (all of them female) had taken to following him around between classes, giving Harry more feet to negotiate his way through. Apparently, there was a competition going with a first prize of a romantic candlelit dinner with him for the one who could get a photograph of Harry kissing them (at least, according to Ginny who heard it from Hermione who heard it from Lavender Brown who heard it from Luna Lovegood who heard it from Moaning Myrtle who overheard it in the girls' bathroom on the fourth floor).

The Slytherins took things a step further by establishing a pool, the entire contents of which would go to the Slytherin student who managed to curse Harry without being cursed in return by one of the bodyguards. The pot was reputed to be worth over twelve hundred galleons, more than Harry had won in the Triwizard. With the promise of fame and fortune, it was no wonder the students were throwing themselves into it with such enthusiasm. Harry's increased attractiveness did mean he got to see Moody perform some pretty spectacular counter-curses which he probably never would have learnt about otherwise but, other than that, he couldn't see any benefit to the constant traffic jams in the corridors.

The nights were only slightly better. Even though the Fat Lady was still refusing to let 'that Hufflepuff' into Gryffindor Tower, she fell far short of extending that courtesy to Plaxton, who had not only been in Gryffindor when he had attended Hogwarts himself, but had also been a prefect.

Loathe to allow a Ministry spy to eavesdrop on their conversations, no matter how innocent, Harry, Ron and Hermione adopted a silent approach to the problem, not saying a word to each other or indeed anybody, except in class. Even though he had no idea what effect no longer being able to discuss answers with Hermione was having on Ron's schoolwork, Harry imagined it wasn't good.

For three days, Harry stumbled his way through the new routine of his life, suffering countless bruises as Moody roughly pushed him out of the way of hexes, being constantly contradicted and abused by Blackthorn in front of his students and studying in brooding silence with Ron and Hermione while Plaxton breathed down their necks. What it would all be like next week when he started his one-on-one tutorials, he didn't know.

Not that it got that far.

On Thursday night, Harry decided he needed a long soak in a soothing hot bath to try to relax the tight knot which used to be his neck muscles so, during the changing of the guard, he headed for the prefects' bathroom. Once the bath was filled with a variety of scents and bubbles, he started to undress.

'Pool party?'

'_Myrtle!_' Jumping a mile, Harry snatched up a towel and quickly wrapped its warm softness around himself. 'What have I told you about spying on me when I'm in here?'

The ghost of a young girl with pearly spectacles and lank hair forced her face into a hurt expression, though her eyes continued to stare at Harry as though she could see through the towel.

'Then how come he's allowed to watch?' She peered past Harry towards the door.

'What?' Harry frowned at her, then glanced back over his shoulder. His jaw dropped in horror at the sight of Plaxton standing behind him.

'_THAT'S IT!_' Harry grabbed his robes and pulled them over his head, almost tearing the fabric in his haste. Roughly pushing Plaxton aside, he stormed from the bathroom, bubbles quietly popping as he slammed the door.

'ALBUS!' Harry shouted at the gargoyle as he fumed towards the spiralling staircase leading up to McGonagall's office. He didn't wait for her to reply to his heavy-handed knock but stormed straight in.

'Potter –?'

'That idiot just tried to watch me take a bath!' he roared at the headmistress as she stared at him in bewildered shock. 'You can find yourself a new teacher. I quit!' And before McGonagall could do anything more than blink at him, stunned, he wheeled around and marched angrily from her office, slamming yet another door behind him.

'Harry!' Hermione jumped up as soon as he got back to the Gryffindor common room. 'McGonagall said you just –'

Ignoring her, Harry swept past her up the stairs to his room, slammed that door as well, then collapsed against it, shaking and breathing heavily. He was probably going to get into a _lot_ of trouble for what he was about to do, but he couldn't see any other way around it. Despite Snape's plan that Harry play along, using Polyjuice to get around his guards, he didn't think his temper would take the strain much longer. He really needed to do something about the situation before it got any worse and the only way he could think of was to force both McGonagall and Scrimgeour's hands. He just hoped he didn't get Ron and Hermione into trouble with him.

Giving his wand a quick flick, Harry watched as his possessions quickly packed themselves into his trunk, his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders' Map, which had been hidden in Hermione's room, sliding under the door and landing on his bed. Just as Hermione started banging on his door, Harry gave the Map a quick glance, levitated his trunk and tied it to his Firebolt, grabbed his Cloak and opened the window.

Flying straight down the side of the tower, he skimmed a few feet above the ground, keeping to the shadows. With the moon only just starting to wax, he had no difficulty reaching his destination unseen.

_x_

Dumbledore didn't seem very surprised when Harry suddenly appeared in front of him just as he was starting to eat his supper.

'At least you're still in one piece,' he commented, taking in Harry's hurried appearance. 'I take it you didn't get to have that bath after all.'

Harry's jaw dropped as he stared at Dumbledore, his ragged breathing almost stopping in shock. 'I … what … how did you know about the bath?'

'Oh, I like to keep an ear out for interesting news,' said Dumbledore, pouring a cup of tea. He glanced up at Harry as he slid the cup across the table. 'You look like you could use a good night's rest, no stress or hassles. This will help.'

Eyeing the teacup uncertainly, Harry asked, 'What's in it?'

'Just tea. I don't think it would be wise for you to take anything stronger whilst in your present mood; it would only serve to keep you up all night. So, drink up.' The blue eyes twinkled up at him.

Still feeling as though his life was definitely not his own anymore, Harry sat down and took a small sip, watching Dumbledore over the rim the whole time.

The moustache stretched in an encouraging smile. 'So, what do you intend to do now that you have left your students without a teacher?' asked Dumbledore.

Harry flushed. 'That's not why I left,' he said defensively. 'Besides, I wasn't teaching them. That idiot from the Ministry wouldn't let me. Every time I tried to show the students a spell, he'd jump up and start telling me off – in front of the class – and go on about how it's illegal for them to learn it because _Ministry Law_ says they can't. At this rate, they'll never be able to defend themselves against anything.'

'So you thought the wisest course was to leave them in the hands of Ministry officials who are receiving their instructions from Dolores Umbridge?'

'I told you, that's not why I left.' Harry could feel his temper starting to rise again. 'I finally got sick of not being able to go anywhere or do anything without tripping over five million people.' He took a gulp of tea and spilled half of it down his front.

'So what are your plans now?' Dumbledore asked again, the blue eyes watching Harry closely over the top of the half-moon glasses.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know. Hang out here, I guess. I don't know how long it will take Scrimgeour and McGonagall to see sense, so you could have me around for a while. I hope you don't mind,' he said, not caring if Dumbledore minded or not.

'Not at all.' The moustache twitched. 'I can always do with some welcome company. Now,' he glanced at Harry's cup, 'if you've finished your tea, I suggest you go upstairs and get started on that good night's sleep. You'll feel better in the morning, I promise.'

_x_

'You're in a lot of trouble.'

Harry had been hiding at Grimmauld Place for three days when Remus Lupin called by for a visit. Being the second half of the lunar month, he was starting to look peaky again.

'I'm sure both McGonagall and Scrimgeour will find someone better to focus their anger on than me,' Harry grinned at him.

'I wasn't talking about them.' Remus folded his patched cloak and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

Harry frowned. 'Then who am I in a lot of trouble with?'

'Molly.' Remus accepted a cup of tea from Dumbledore. 'She's been on the rampage since Thursday night. Arthur's had his hands full trying to keep her from tearing the Ministry apart in an attempt to get them to do something about it.'

'So they aren't looking for me?' Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved or mad.

'Not like they're supposed to. Rather than panicking that you could be abducted by Voldemort again, they seem to be more concerned about the fact that you managed to get away from one of their guards.'

'So they're still insisting that I have bodyguards?'

'Scrimgeour, at any rate. McGonagall seems to be thinking that it may not have been the greatest idea, after all, but still hasn't said they're definitely out yet.' Remus sipped his tea.

'Well as soon as both of them remove _all four_ guards, let me know,' said Harry.

'Why, is that when you'll suddenly be found wandering around Hogwarts' grounds?'

Harry just grinned as he twisted the ring on his finger.

It took until eleven o'clock on the Sunday night before Harry got the agreement he wanted. Dumbledore warned him that it was probably only a token gesture and that both parties would no doubt still keep an eye on him, but at least he would be able to take a bath _alone_. He'd deal with the rest if and when it happened.

Upon his return to school – McGonagall had not been pleased when he refused to explain how he had gotten through the school's security – he had spent the next hour convincing a very grumpy Slughorn to do something about the competition the Slytherins were running (the one featuring the date with Harry had died a very quick death when Hermione pointed out that the lucky girl would become famous to the extent that Voldemort would probably try to use her as a way to trap Harry). The Potions professor had felt anything but co-operative, especially since he was losing precious beauty sleep ('I do have a class first up tomorrow morning.') but Harry had managed to charm a reasonably enthusiastic agreement out of him when he pointed out that Slughorn, as Head of House, would get to keep the pot. Leaving Slughorn to shuffle back off to bed while visions of crystallised pineapple danced in his head, Harry tiredly made his way up to his own bed.

Without a constant blanket of people thronging around him, he was able to start his second week far more successfully than the first had begun and started to think that this teaching caper just might be worth it after all.

_x_

At seven o'clock on Monday night, Harry gathered up his things and headed down to McGonagall's old office, now home to the new Transfigurations professor. Patricia Capsworth's pleasant voice answered his knock, bidding him to enter.

Harry glanced around appreciatively. The room certainly looked a lot more homely and inviting than when McGonagall had occupied it.

'How do you like your tea?' Professor Capsworth pointed her wand at a bone china teapot perched near the end of her desk.

'Er –' Harry glanced at her uncertainly. She calmly met his gaze, waiting. 'Milk and sugar?' He took out his copy of _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_. Once they were both settled with cups of tea, Professor Capsworth began.

'What do you know about the Animagus Charm?'

'Not much. Professor McGonagall gave us a brief rundown on it back in third year, then she turned into a cat. Not that any of us took much notice. We'd just had our first Divination lesson and Professor Trelawney had tried to impress us by telling everybody I was going to die soon. I've know some Animagi, most of them illegal. And my dad was one.'

'Yes, I did hear something to that effect.' Professor Capsworth took another sip of her tea. 'A stag, wasn't it?'

'Prongs.' A sad smile slowly spread across Harry's face, pride in his father's ability mingling with heartache and sorrow that he would never get the chance to tell him exactly how proud he was of him. 'He must have done brilliantly in his OWLs doing what he did in fifth year.' He didn't realise that he sighed. 'There was so much I could have learnt from him.' He glanced up and discovered that Professor Capsworth was watching him closely. His face started to grow warm.

'Were you speaking about your father just now?'

'Who else would I have been talking about?'

'Oh,' another sip, 'for a minute, I thought you were talking about my Transfigurations teacher.'

'Who, McGonagall?'

'No, the one before her.'

Harry frowned. 'What, you mean … Dumbledore?'

Capsworth nodded, her eyes suddenly misty. 'He was … _brilliant_ … even when he was still at school. Some of the stories my grandfather told about the things he got up to when he was here …'

Harry waited with bated breath but she merely shook her head, remembering.

'Everyone expressed surprise when he chose teaching over a career with the Ministry – I think they thought the school might toss him straight back – but he was a brilliant teacher. He'll be sadly missed.' She sighed into her teacup as a small tear trickled down her cheek. It had almost reached her jaw when she suddenly pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief and blew her nose.

'I'm sorry,' she said from behind the linen square. 'That wasn't very professional of me.' She blinked her eyes rapidly. 'Well, enough reminiscing; we have a lesson to get through.'

Harry felt terrible. Since term had started, he had been confronted with signs of people still very much in mourning for Dumbledore and he wanted to shout from the top of the Astronomy Tower that their sorrow was unnecessary, but knew that he couldn't. And now, seeing someone who had been more than just a student at the school he had run; she had been one of his _actual_ students … Harry's heart squeezed tighter as he felt like a complete heel.


	12. Chapter 12: Trials and Errors

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWELVE –**

**Trials and Errors**

Harry didn't make it to Gryffindor Tower. As he walked past the end of the corridor leading to the Room of Requirement, he stopped and took a few steps back. He gazed towards the tapestry of dancing trolls. He hadn't retrieved Snape's book yet. And he was supposed to be having a class with Slughorn tomorrow …

Glancing in every direction (including up) to make sure nobody was watching, Harry turned down the corridor.

_I need to find the book I hid … I need to find the book I hid … I need to find the book I hid …_ As Harry walked past the blank wall for a third time, a door suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The door to the Room of Requirement. With another glance left and right, he ducked inside.

Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Harry let his eyes roam over the cathedral-sized city of furniture, books and odds and ends, most of which had definitely seen better days, stretching before him. Relief washed over him. He was in the right Room. He had been so scared it wouldn't work somehow.

His relief was short-lived though as a new doubt began to creep in: would he be able to find his hiding place in the centuries of trash and treasure piled either side of countless streets and laneways. The doubt strengthened as he explored because nothing looked familiar. He had passed niggling panic by the time he found what he was looking for: an old bust wearing a wig and a tiara.

The relief returned as Harry opened the cupboard which the ridiculous-looking bust was perched on. Reaching behind a cage containing a five-legged skeleton, his hands scraped through the dust, finally clasping around a hard rectangular book-shaped object.

Harry allowed a grin to spread across his face as he brushed a thin layer of dust from the cover, revealing the title _Advanced Potion-Making_. He flicked through the book just to be sure and wasn't disappointed to find every page graffitied with Snape's handwriting.

Storing the book safely in his robes, he headed back towards the entrance, past potion bottles, cloaks, glistening gems, turned right at a wardrobe –

Harry pulled up and looked back at the dusty cupboard. Walking around it he examined every inch, making certain he wasn't mistaken. He'd look a right idiot otherwise and Slughorn, for one, would never let him forget it. Though not malevolently nasty like Snape, he was still Head of Slytherin and so took delight in the failures of others, basking in the reflected glory that he was smarter than them.

Once he was satisfied, Harry gave his wand a swish and flick and the large cupboard floated into the air.

'Where have you been? Capsworth said you finished ages –' Ron broke off as the cabinet turned the corner behind Harry. 'Why on earth is a wardrobe following you?'

'I'm taking it to the staff room.' Harry walked past Ron, the cupboard trailing after him.

Ron clearly didn't think this even came close to explaining things but Harry didn't have time to go into it any further. He didn't even really care if Ron followed him or not. All that mattered was getting the cabinet to McGonagall and Flitwick.

Because it was late, they managed to avoid running into anyone until the fourth floor where they stumbled upon Filch out and about on his nightly prowl of the corridors, his mangy cat, Mrs Norris, peeping out from behind his rheumatic legs. The cabinet stumped him for only two seconds. His malicious glee at finding students out of bed multiplied tenfold at the discovery of them stealing school property. Despite Harry and Ron's protests ('Read the badge – _Head Boy_!'), Filch would not be swayed and proceeded to drag them off to his office, no easy task when Harry broke off his spell and the caretaker was forced to either lug the cabinet to his office himself or risk losing incriminating evidence.

Drawn by the commotion which ensued (Filch was certainly not happy that Harry and Ron were able to resist his efforts to force them to carry the cabinet), a little floating wide-mouthed man put in an appearance just before they reached Filch's den.

'_Ooh!_ Potter's in trouble, Potter's in trouble,' sang Peeves the poltergeist roguishly, twisting around a nearby chandelier. 'Seventh-years stealing cupboards; the headmistress really should be told.' He grinned evilly at them.

'_No!_' snapped Filch bossily, but with a note of panic as well. 'The headmistress is a very busy woman. That's why _I_ work here – to take care of matters which she doesn't have time to see to.' He continued to drag the cabinet a few more inches as if that settled the matter.

'Please, Peeves.' Harry tried to sound as desperate as he could. 'Don't tell McGonagall. You'll get us in even more trouble.' He ignored both Ron and Filch's dropped jaws and put as much horror onto his face as he could muster.

Peeves glanced from Filch's smug face to Harry's fearful one. His face split in the most mischievously evil grin Harry had ever seen then, with a loud cackle, he went whizzing past them down the corridor.

Filch stared disgruntledly after him. 'Well, don't think the headmistress will be able to rescue you,' he snapped at Harry and Ron. 'You two have been getting away with murder for far too long and it's high time you got your just desserts. Professor Dumbledore isn't around any more to protect you,' he grunted as he moved the cabinet a little further.

'Why did you do that?' Ron whispered to Harry. 'McGonagall'll make things worse.'

'No, she won't.' Harry made sure Filch was looking the other way before risking a grin. 'You'll see. Trust me.'

When they finally reached Filch's office, the old Squib spent several minutes catching his breath, his crusty wheezes the only sound as Harry and Ron backed into chairs.

'Who told you to sit down,' snapped Filch, his bloodshot eyes full of hatred. Slumping tiredly into the chair behind his desk, he reached for a quill.

'Names: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley. Crime: steal –'

A knock interrupted him, heralding the arrival of a stern-faced Professor McGonagall. Filch struggled to his rheumatic feet as she entered.

'I'm sorry you had to come all the way down here, Headmistress,' he wheezed apologetically. 'I'm quite capable of handling this without your help. I told Peeves there was no need to disturb you. Interfering little …' he muttered bitterly under his breath.

McGonagall overlooked his comments about Peeves 'And what exactly is it that you are handling here, Argus?' Her eyes swept the office, taking in Harry and Ron as well as the cupboard standing freely in the centre of the room.

Filch puffed up defensively like a plimpy. 'I caught these students roaming through the corridors after curfew, stealing school property. I was just writing up the details of their crime when you came in.'

'And what school property have they been stealing, Mr Filch?' McGonagall cast her eyes around the room, trying to notice the misappropriated item but the only thing which she could find which didn't seem to belong was the cupboard. Her puzzlement grew to outright confusion when Filch confirmed her reluctant suspicion. She sighed heavily.

'I am probably going to regret asking this, Potter, but where did that wardrobe come from and why were the two of you stealing it?'

'We didn't steal it, Professor,' Harry tried hard to keep from grinning. '_I_ did.' ('_Ha!_ I told you,' cried Filch triumphantly) 'I found it in the Room of Requirement. Ron met me as I was taking it to the staff room and then Mr Filch ran into us and dragged us here.'

McGonagall closed her eyes and looked like she was praying for patience. 'And why were you bringing it to the staff room?'

'I wanted you and Professor Flitwick to check it out. You might have me teaching Defence but this is a bit beyond me. You two were the only ones I knew I could trust to properly destroy Malfoy's Vanishing Cabinet that he brought those Death Eaters in with the night Professor Dumbledore died. I couldn't give it to the Ministry to take care of; they'd only botch things up.'

Harry knew he had achieved maximum shock value. Both Ron and McGonagall had shouted _'What?'_ and Filch gave an extremely loud cry of terror and pressed himself against the wall behind his desk, his eyes larger than saucepan lids as he stared at the cabinet as though it was going to spew forth more Death Eaters any second. McGonagall glanced from the cabinet to Harry, aghast.

'How on earth did you manage to get it? We've been trying for nearly two months but haven't been able to find it.'

'That's because you didn't know just what it was you were looking for.'

'And you did?'

'Yes.' Harry thought it best not to reveal that he had actually been looking for Snape's book. It would only invite more questions, none of which he was prepared to answer. 'So, will you and Flitwick be able to handle it?' He nodded towards the cabinet, forcing McGonagall to focus on the matter of its destruction rather than Harry's non-existent explanation.

A little of McGonagall's normal bearing returned. 'Yes … yes, Filius and I should be able to see to things without … without too much difficulty.' She bit her lip in a rare display of uncertainty. 'I suppose it would be proper to inform the Minister … after all, he did request to be kept updated …' She seemed to be thinking out loud.

'But did he actually say he wanted you to tell him the instant you found it or just that it had been found?'

McGonagall dragged herself from her introspection to gaze at Ron. 'Explain what you mean, Weasley.'

'Well, it's late, isn't it?' said Ron. 'And it's a very long way to come. Plus, he'd probably want to bring a whole heap of Aurors or something with him. It seems rather silly getting everybody out of bed for something which isn't even an immediate emergency, doesn't it? Tomorrow morning is plenty soon enough.'

Harry could tell that McGonagall was being swayed.

'And, of course, it would only be natural to make sure the cabinet didn't exist anymore by then. You don't know for certain that Voldemort won't send some Death Eaters through it tonight. I know Greyback would love another go at all the kids here. You have to protect the students in your care at any cost. You would only be making sure they were safe.' Harry braved a grin of encouragement and was certain he saw McGonagall's mouth twitch ever so slightly.

'Mr Filch,' (Filch was still eyeing the Vanishing Cabinet with fear). 'Could you please ask Professor Flitwick to meet me in the staff room at his earliest convenience?'

Filch looked most unhappy at this request; it would require that he move closer to the offending piece of carpentry in order to exit the office as well as deny him the chance to mete out any punishment.

'Now, if you wouldn't mind,' McGonagall said sternly.

Filch clearly did mind but obviously wasn't prepared to disobey his employer. Pressed against the wall (and muttering under his breath), he slowly edged his way around the room until he finally reached the relative safety of the corridor. They heard his footsteps hurrying away as fast as his rheumatism would allow, trying to put as much distance between himself and the deadly cupboard.

McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron. 'I trust you two are capable of returning to Gryffindor Tower without stumbling upon any other errant pieces of furniture?'

Harry and Ron both nodded as she removed her wand and made the Vanishing Cabinet rise into the air.

'Then I would advise you both to get yourselves to bed before Mr Filch can try to apprehend you for any more transgressions.'

'But we didn't –'

'Goodnight, Mr Weasley.'

It was just after three o'clock in the morning when Harry woke with a start. He wondered, for a moment, what had woken him, then he heard strange fizzing, popping sounds and noticed a faint green light on the ceiling. Unable to identify the source of either, he got up and went to the window.

Hagrid was tossing pieces of broken timber onto a large bonfire in front of his hut, causing the fire to give an extremely loud bang as it exploded in a burst of dark purple flames, casting a sinister light over the grounds. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Capsworth were stationed around the bonfire's perimeter, well back out of its reach, waving their wands in intricately complicated patterns, making the fire die back down to green although it did keep popping with small bursts, the wood fizzing and bubbling in the flames like baking soda in water.

A part of Harry felt guilty that, as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, he should have been the one to destroy the Vanishing Cabinet and he told Capsworth so over breakfast later that morning.

'Don't worry about it, Harry,' she assured him. 'As you told Minerva, you had never come across anything like this before. The Abdo Adamantis Charm is difficult to perform at the best of times, even by fully qualified wizards. Only those with plenty of experience, like Filius, are able to cast it without doing more harm than they are trying to undo.'

'But it was still my subject –'

'No, it wasn't. That Vanishing Cabinet wasn't an item of Dark magic, it was a joke object; it would have fitted in quite well in Ron's brothers' shop.'

Harry had to admit this much was true. It wasn't the cabinet's fault that its twin was in a location which made it easily accessible to Dark wizards; it had merely been developed to Vanish between its two halves. Quite amusing really, as Fred and George demonstrated when they forced a Slytherin student into it during their seventh year. The guilty knot began to loosen itself as Professor Capsworth continued.

'Believe me, Harry, your original instincts were spot on; this matter definitely came under the heading "Charms", not "Defence". You would deny Filius the opportunity to do his bit in all of this, would you?' Her eyes twinkled at him a moment, then she turned to accept a tray of kippers from Professor Flitwick, whose beaming smile seemed to split his small face in two.

_x_

'I met one of your students.'

The following Saturday night found Harry in the drawing room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, about to have his first Transfigurations tutorial with Dumbledore.

The former headmaster glanced up, his brows raised. 'One of _my_ students?'

Harry nodded.

'Who?' Dumbledore gazed at Harry, curious.

'Patricia Capsworth.'

'Oh, so you've met Patricia, have you?' The silver moustache stretched into a delighted grin. 'I wasn't aware Minerva had managed to lure her away from the Ministry. As I understood, she was doing her best to stop the Minister bullying innocent victims in his quest to be seen to be doing something about Lord Voldemort.'

'She was certainly doing that,' Harry said. 'If it hadn't been for her, Ron, Hermione, Mrs Figg and I would currently be locked up in Azkaban.'

'Remus mentioned that you had a little run-in with the Ministry over the summer, but he was rather light on details.' He leant back in his chair. Harry took this as an invitation to start describing everything which had passed before the Wizengamot.

'They do say revenge is sweetest when served up cold.' Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye. 'That was better than even I could have come up with. Please be certain to tell Miss Granger that I applaud her choice of reward for you having a roof over your head all these years.' The still very misty eyes twinkled.

Harry thought 'reward' was an odd way of viewing what Hermione had done to the Dursleys, but at least Dumbledore wasn't mad about what was, essentially, Muggle-baiting.

Because of his schedule, they had decided that Harry would stay at Hogwarts during the week and sneak down to London on the weekends. Stanwick Fulstrum had only bothered to show up for one tutorial, and had only stayed long enough to give Harry another earful of bitterness and disdain and to tell him that, as such a fine, accomplished Auror, he would be doing the law-abiding wizarding community a favour by refusing to teach Harry at all, thus ensuring that he failed his NEWT and never became an Auror himself.

When McGonagall had learned of Fulstrum's resignation as Harry's tutor, she had been in a quandary as to what to do. She had not been at all keen to just let it slide but, as Harry pointed out, he had managed to get Outstanding on his OWL, despite having been taught properly for only one of the five years leading up to that exam, including two when he had to teach himself: fourth year when the Triwizard rules had banned him from asking any teachers for help, and fifth year when Umbridge had imposed a ban on him learning.

He even showed McGonagall the set of books which had been his bible for the past year and a half. Even though Defence Against the Dark Arts wasn't her area of expertise, she could tell they were extremely useful and would serve Harry very well.

'And I have managed to get some pretty impressive experience under my belt which nobody else has. How many times have Fulstrum or Scrimgeour gone up against Voldemort?'

Despite McGonagall wanting to rework Harry's timetable now that he had an extra night free, Harry convinced her to let him use the spare hours to catch up on homework and correction. After all, he was going to need every second he could scrounge.

Since Harry wanted to be an Auror, Dumbledore had decided that Remus, Snape and he would augment Harry's studies in Defence, Potions and Transfigurations to ensure he got Outstanding for those three NEWTs at least by commencing his intensive summer studies ten months early.

Dumbledore's idea of Transfigurations rather took Harry by surprise. Feeling that Patricia Capsworth was doing an excellent job with Harry's tuition (which Harry was inclined to agree with), he opted instead to spend their classes only lightly touching on what Harry had learnt on the previous Monday, reinforcing his technique and mastery, and then concentrating on something which Harry would have thought would come more under the heading of Charms. Picking up where Snape had left off, Dumbledore started to teach him both Occlumency and Legilimency.

For the Defence tutes, Lupin claimed to be at a loss as to just what it was Dumbledore wanted him to teach Harry.

'Why, what don't I know?' he asked when told he would be having classes with Harry, tossing Harry a mischievous wink.

The only problem was Potions.

Knowing that Harry had his precious copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_, there was no way Snape would tolerate the situation remaining that way. The trouble was, Harry hadn't managed to copy all of Snape's notes yet.

And not just the brewing corrections. Hidden from Hermione, he was busily writing out all of Snape's hexes as well. Even though Harry now knew that the Half-Blood Prince was Snape, it didn't put him off believing in what was in that book. If anything, it strengthened it. No matter how grudgingly, Harry couldn't deny that Snape definitely knew his subject. Both of them. Hermione might complain, but Harry was determined to get every advantage he could, and if only one of Snape's jinxes saved him in his battle against Voldemort, then it was worth working for that advantage.

He had ordered a new copy from Flourish and Blotts, but it would probably still be a couple more weeks coming. This wasn't a problem in Slughorn's class because the self-indulgent teacher refused to believe Harry's prowess was the result of anything other than natural talent inherited from his mother.

Snape, however, suffered no such delusions.

Wondering what the disgraced professor's reaction would be to Harry borrowing Ron's copy of the set textbook, Harry dreaded facing up to his first private Potions tutorial.

'Is the … _audience_ …' Snape's lip curled, 'absolutely necessary, Headmaster?'

'Oh, I'm not an audience, Severus,' Dumbledore's pale blue eyes twinkled. 'I am a student.'

Snape frowned as he dragged his eyes away from Lupin. 'You wish me to teach you?'

'I wish for you to teach all three of us.' The moustache twitched. 'Harry, of course, can use extra tutelage to improve upon what Horace is teaching him. I may have done well in Potions when I was at school, but that was many, many years ago. I certainly haven't brewed anything for a very long time and am extremely out of practice.

'And Lupin?' The dark eyes slid back to again bore through Remus, who gazed back mildly.

'As you know, Severus, I have never been much of a potion brewer … everybody has a weakness of some kind …' (Harry suspected that Snape didn't consider that _he_ had any weaknesses) 'and, while it has been very kind of you to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me, I can't rely on you to keep it up forever. It wouldn't be fair to you; you do have your own life, after all. No, it is high time I started to take responsibility for my own welfare and the first step is learning to successfully brew complex potions. And for that, I need an extremely competent teacher, one who can do a much better job than Professor Slughorn did when we were young.'

Snape narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Lupin's praise, but unable to do anything about it because of Dumbledore's presence.

'Shall we get on with the lesson, then?' Dumbledore was watching both men carefully, only the slightest crease added to his wrinkled brow.

Snape's lips pressed together more tightly and Harry suspected that he was biting his tongue to stop himself saying exactly what he thought of the idea of teaching Harry in front of witnesses. He doubted that Lupin's presence would have put an end to Snape's bullying, but with Dumbledore there to also watch proceedings, Harry felt that he might finally be taught properly.

_x_

By the middle of the third week, notices had begun to appear on the board in the Gryffindor common room announcing that Quidditch trials would be held on the following Saturday at ten a.m. They drew a lot of interest.

'Why have you said first-years can try out?' asked Ron as he headed down to breakfast with Harry and Hermione. 'It's not like they'll be able to play. Dumbledore might have had no problems, but McGonagall, no way.'

Harry frowned at this comment. 'Who do you think talked Dumbledore into bending the first-year rule for me in the first place?' he said. 'Don't worry about it, Ron. Just be there and make sure you play your heart out. They're going to need to know what they'll be up against.'

Ron glanced uncertainly at Hermione but, as she had never understood Quidditch like they had, she just shrugged and followed Harry into the Great Hall.

On Saturday, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny headed down to the Quidditch pitch at nine o'clock to get everything set up for when hopefuls would start arriving in an hour, only to find, as they approached the stadium, that the hopefuls were already there.

'What –?' Ron gaped at the half-full stands. 'You did say _ten_ o'clock, didn't you?'

Harry nodded numbly.

'How many of them are actually in Gryffindor, do you think?' Ginny, at least, seemed to be amused that half the school had shown up.

'What – oh, of course,' said Harry, remembering last year's debacle. He pulled out his wand, a determined look on his face, and marched into the arena.

'_Sonorus_.'

As the general din died down to silence, every head turned to face this newcomer into their midst. Harry could see very few Gryffindor badges amongst the throng.

'CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?' shouted Harry, making everybody jump, including himself. 'Sorry.' He grinned sheepishly. 'I've never used that charm before. Apparently you don't need to shout.' He cleared his throat. 'Well, now that I do have your attention, could everybody who is not in Gryffindor please leave. I will _not_ be considering players from other houses, and anyone who stays will be wasting both your time and mine as well as losing points for your house. So, if you want Gryffindor to be very much in the lead for the House Cup, by all means, stay. Otherwise, go. Now!'

He gazed up at the countless faces glaring mutinously down at him. Harry remained unmoved and slowly, still throwing murderous looks in his direction, the students who had no right being there dragged themselves back up to the castle.

Harry glanced around at the remaining students. It still looked like most of Gryffindor house had turned up to try out. The only ones who didn't seem to be present were the rest of the actual Gryffindor team … and they wouldn't arrive for nearly an hour.

'OK, everybody come down here.' Harry waited for the prospective team members to climb down out of the stands. Once they were gathered around him, he started by getting them to fly up, down and around the pitch in groups of five, as well as follow Ginny through a series of complex moves, noting who had excellent balance, maneuverability and co-ordination. By the time ten o'clock came around, he had come up with roughly a dozen names which might fit what he wanted.

'You sure you're after a new Chaser?' Ron ran an eye over the list Harry had completed. 'It looks more like you're trying out a whole new team.'

'I am.'

As Ron stared at him in horrified shock, Harry wandered over to the middle of the pitch and waved the students down to break the news of who hadn't made it through to the next round. When he got back to Ron, he found the entire team lined up, defiant looks on their faces.

'What's this Ron says about you wanting to give us the boot?' Ritchie Cootes was gripping his broom so tightly, Harry was surprised the wood didn't splinter.

'Didn't we do a good enough job winning the Cup last year? Demelza Robins sounded very indignant.

'Without you,' Ron pointed out.

Harry held his hands up to stop the onrush.

'If you are _quite_ finished?' He waited for his irate teammates to fall into a sullen silence. 'I am _not_ replacing you, no matter how much you may deserve it with your behaviour just now.'

The faces grew darker.

'What I'm doing is setting up a reserve.'

Ron had been about to start protesting again but stopped in the middle of the first word. 'Then– … a … what?'

'A reserve,' Harry said dryly. 'To readily step into any of our places in the event of illness or injury (and we've had plenty of those over the years), they'll give us something to practise against during training, and they'll be getting trained up themselves, ready to take over from us as we leave. That's why I said first-years were allowed to try out; of all of us, they're the ones who'll be here the longest.' Harry gazed around at his team-mates. 'So, is your captain a genius, or what?' He waited for the accolades.

The team responded by bursting out laughing.

'It might be a clever idea, mate, but a genius, you're not.' Ron clapped Harry on the back, still laughing. 'Come on, you lot,' he called to the others. 'Let's see what this bunch have got in them.'

It was one of the hardest practices Harry had ever been involved in in seven years of doing this. He thought it might even top the rigorous sessions Oliver Wood had dragged him through four years before, but it was worth it. By the time they had finished, not only did he have a replacement Chaser in fifth-year Tania Whiteman, but also his hoped-for Reserve team, consisting of a third year, two second-years and four firsts.

Harry was especially pleased with the discovery of Luke Pole, a Muggle-born who was a natural on a broom. He also had extremely sharp eyes and reflexes and had caught eighteen out of twenty of the golf balls Harry had painted gold … while flying into the sun. Harry had only managed fifteen.

It was just a pity that he was only a first-year. He would have been perfect to stand in for Harry if the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes made him miss a game. While Dumbledore had had no problems bending the first-year rule, Harry couldn't see McGonagall being as accommodating, especially in the face of his refusal to tell her what he was doing about Voldemort.

But next year …

_x_

Holding the Quidditch trials heralded a great decrease in Harry's non-existent spare time. What with teaching during the day, tutorials in the evenings, marking homework late into the nights, Quidditch practice on Saturdays and private classes in London on Saturday and Sunday nights, as well as cramming his own homework into the very few minutes in between (fortunately, Dumbledore had stopped Snape adding to the workload), he received a rather unpleasant surprise when he woke up a week before Halloween and realised the first term was already half over. And the shocks didn't stop there as he discovered when he got down to breakfast.

'Oh no!'

'What?' Ron jumped at the horror in Hermione's voice, spilling pumpkin juice down the front of his robes.

As his friend tried to mop himself clean, Harry watched Hermione with an increasing sense of trepidation. She was staring at _The Daily Prophet_ in shock, her face as white as the tablecloth in front of her.

'Hermione, what is it?'

For reply, she gave one loud sob, then dropped the paper and ran, crying, from the Great Hall. Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks as Harry picked up the abandoned paper. He didn't have to search very far to find the cause of her distress. It was emblazoned all over the front page, in letters as dark as the news they were conveying.

Viktor Krum was dead.

'She's all upset because that pompous –'

Harry reached up and grabbed Ron's shoulder, dragging him back down to his seat. 'That's why you couldn't get an autograph quick enough.'

'But she –'

'Would you be upset if Lavender Brown was murdered?' Harry asked.

'What?'

'Hermione used to go with him. She may not be in love with him anymore, but she probably still likes him as a friend; after all, they didn't split up because of a fight. And considering how sudden and unexpected this is, I would say she has every right to be shocked and upset, wouldn't you?' He turned his attention back to the newspaper, Ron scowling in the background. Silence passed between them for several minutes as Harry started devouring every word detailing the circumstances surrounding Krum's death.

'So, how did he die?' Ron asked, his curiosity eventually winning over his jealousy.

'How are most people dying these days?' Harry asked quietly.

'But why him?'

'I don't know. Maybe they tried to get him to be a Death Eater and he refused.'

'But why would he refuse? He went to Durmstrang, after all.'

Harry looked up. 'What does that have to do with it?'

'Well, Karkaroff taught him.'

'So that automatically makes him evil, does it?' Harry's shock started to turn to anger. 'He wasn't evil. He was an athlete, probably the best Seeker in the world. Besides, he was too busy to be a Death Eater. According to this, as well as playing for Bulgaria in the European Cup preliminaries, he's been meeting with other member nations to talk about setting up a European Junior League.

'Besides,' Harry continued, 'I'd have thought he would be too high profile for Voldemort. Being the star he is … was … he was always being watched – by the media, his fans, that sort of thing. It would be too easy to notice anything out of the ordinary. No. This is something else, I think.'

'You think?'

'Mmm. It's just a … a … feeling, I guess. I can't explain it any other way.'

'You haven't been taking lessons from Professor Trelawney, have you?' Ron started to lean away from Harry, as if he thought he might catch something.

'You know, you really should be comforting Hermione rather than badgering me.' Harry wasn't happy about the jibe about Professor Trelawney.

'What's wrong with you? I was just –'

'Ron, I don't mean to sound rude,' Harry interrupted, knowing he was being just that, 'but I don't want to hear it, OK. I just want to be alone so I can think and see if I can work out what my feeling about all this is. And you need to find your girlfriend. And remember that, Ron; she's _your_ girlfriend. She hasn't seen Krum in over two years.'

For a minute, Harry thought Ron was going to blow up at him (his ears were turning red very quickly) but, instead, he jumped up angrily and stormed from the Hall; Harry saw him leaping up the marble staircase three steps at a time.

There was only one topic of conversation for the rest of the day. Everywhere Harry went, Krum's name was constantly on people's lips – in the bathroom, common room and corridors. He even had to threaten a group of girls at the back of a fourth-year class with lost points to get them to unglue their heads from each other and concentrate on the lesson.

McGonagall pulled Harry aside during the morning break and asked him if he knew where Ron and Hermione were as they had both been missing all morning. Harry told her about Hermione's distress and said that Ron was probably with her, trying to comfort her (or at least he hoped that was the case).

Then, just as Harry was about to enter the Great Hall for lunch, Pansy Parkinson came through the front doors (no doubt from a Herbology lesson), and suddenly shouted across the Entrance Hall, 'Hey, Potter. Are you trying to bump off everybody who knows you cheated to win the Triwizard? First Cedric Diggory, now Victor Krum. Or were you just jealous because he sat with us rather than at the smelly Gryffindor table?'

The other Slytherins from the Herbology class, who were milling about just inside the massive oak doors, shrieked with laughter.

'Pretty stupid thing to say, Parkinson.' Ginny had come up behind Harry and was glaring at the Slytherins. 'Calling a teacher a murderer. They can take points off.'

'He's not _my_ teacher.' Pansy's nose screwed up like she was smelling something bad as she glanced across at Ginny.

'But I can still take off points,' Harry informed her.

'Now, now, Harry,' a jovial voice said from Harry's right; looking across, he saw Slughorn watching from the door leading down to the dungeons, 'there's no need for points to be deducted. Miss Parkinson was merely asking a question relating to a self-held opinion. She has done nothing which warrants any punishment.'

'Huh?' Harry didn't have a clue what the well-rounded professor had just said and, judging by the Slytherins' faces, neither did they.

'Well, if it's OK for students to ask questions relating to self-held opinions, then you won't be able to take off points for this.' Ginny glared straight at Parkinson.

'Tell me, how's your pathetic, weak, dumb Death Eater boyfriend enjoying Azkaban?'

A collective hiss spread through the Slytherins, and even Slughorn gave a small squawk.

'Draco's not pathetic, weak and dumb!' Pansy Parkinson was glaring dangerously at Ginny; with a teacher in full view she wasn't stupid enough to go for her wand, even if he was Head of her House.

'Yes he is!' Ginny glared back. 'He was too weak to kill Dumbledore even though You-Know-Who had ordered him to, he was always bawling on Moaning Myrtle's shoulder because You-Know-Who was going to kill him if he didn't hurry up and do it, and when he kidnapped Harry, he still couldn't get it right and got himself caught when he went back for Harry's wand. So yeah, I'd say that makes him _really_ dumb.'

A suit of armour at the top of the stairs started laughing and Pansy Parkinson finally lost control, blasting the amused pile of scrap metal. The crash brought everybody running from the Great Hall.

Filch also appeared out of nowhere. He stared, livid, at the remains of the heap of rust he had probably spent several hours trying to polish to a gleaming shine. He rounded on everybody, boiling with rage. His eyes fell on Harry.

'I should have known _you_ would have something to do with this, Potter,' he almost screamed, his voice cracking. Harry hadn't seen him this upset since Mrs Norris had been Petrified by a Basilisk during Harry's second year.

Perhaps it was the potential threat of harm to his star pupil, but Slughorn made a fatal error which the previous Head of Slytherin never would have. 'Actually, Mr Filch, it was Miss Parkinson who –'

The rest of his words were drowned out by an explosion of sound as Filch gave an angry roar and began throwing broken pieces of armour at Malfoy's former girlfriend, hitting several other Slytherins as well, as the watching crowd of students cheered. Pansy Parkinson threw her hands above her head and ran screaming back outside to the grounds.

Giving chase, Filch had just reached the front doors when they slammed in his face. McGonagall had finally arrived.

'I hope there is a good reason why two teachers allowed such utter chaos to break out without stopping it.'

Having taken several minutes to restore calm, McGonagall had then dragged what she viewed as the culprits up to her office. Now Harry, Ginny, Slughorn and Filch were all lined up in front of her desk like a row of prisoners facing a firing squad.

'Potter made –'

'I said I would like my _teachers_ to explain themselves, Mr Filch.' McGonagall cut the bitter caretaker off before he could get into his stride. Her nostrils flared as she glared up at Harry. 'You first, Potter.'

Feeling like everybody was watching him although every face was focused on McGonagall, Harry described what had happened downstairs. When the headmistress found out that Slughorn had dismissed Pansy's insult as 'a question relating to a self-held opinion', the grim eyes widened in disbelief, though, when Harry repeated what Ginny had then said to Parkinson, her mouth twitched ever so slightly.

'So why was Mr Filch throwing a suit of armour at Miss Parkinson?'

'It started laughing at what Ginny said and Pansy blasted it to teach it a lesson. Mr Filch wasn't real thrilled,' said Harry.

McGonagall gazed up at Slughorn. 'So am I to understand, from what Potter has just said, that you witnessed the entire exchange from the beginning, Professor?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'And did you indeed say that Harry was not to deduct points for Miss Parkinson's comments because it related to a _self-held opinion_?'

'Oh yes, Headmistress.' Harry couldn't understand why Slughorn was beaming proudly; he was possibly about to be fired for lack of discipline and gross stupidity.

McGonagall continued to glare at him as if weighing up her options. After several moments, she dragged her eyes back to the others.

'Because Professor Slughorn basically gave you permission to be insulting to another student, Weasley, I shall not take off any points for your behaviour, but you are not to ask any further questions concerning your opinions again or you shall not find me so lenient. Miss Parkinson, on the other hand, had received no such prior permission, so she shall lose twenty points for her house to discourage any other students from thinking they now have free rein to hurl insults from one end of the school to the other. Potter, despite Mr Filch's belief to the contrary, if what you have said is true, then you actually played no part in any of this other than being the unwilling victim of Miss Parkinson's attack, so you do not require any warning or punishment to discourage a repeat of today's events.

'Mr Filch,' (the caretaker's jaw had dropped when he realised Harry was going to get off scot-free) 'if I find you physically attacking any of my students again, no matter what the provocation, I shall have to seriously consider reviewing your contract here.'

Filch sputtered in shock at what was, in effect, a threat of dismissal.

'And Professor Slughorn, how you could encourage students to indiscriminately attack each other verbally, I do not know. A teacher of your experience should certainly know better. I do not believe this has ever happened in the history of Hogwarts, but I feel the only way to ensure you never act so _stupidly_ again is to issue you with detention. Please report to this office at eight o'clock this evening to serve your punishment.

'That will be all, thank you.'

Understanding themselves to be dismissed, Harry and Ginny crossed to the door as quickly as they dared without looking like they were desperate to get out of there, leaving Filch and Slughorn still staring at McGonagall in shock.

_x_

'Nothing!'

Ron slammed _Ancient Magical Artifacts and their Properties_ shut, raising a small cloud of dust. 'This is ridiculous. We're never going to find a picture of that stupid bird.'

A week later, the three friends could be found grabbing a few minutes in the library before the Halloween feast, trying to find some kind of reference which would confirm whether or not the gold bird which had attacked Ron in Borgin and Burkes was a potential heirloom. Unhappy at their lack of progress, Ron scowled at the almost-empty library which had failed to yield the information they sought.

Hermione sighed as she slowly turned the pages of _Wizarding Dynasties of the Dark Ages_. 'You're probably right, Ron. I can't even find mention of the cup or sword. This lot certainly knew how to keep things very close to their chests. I just wish there was some other way we could know for sure if we're even on the right track.'

'I can't see how we're not,' said Harry, keeping his voice low; Madam Pince was only two rows away. 'All of the items, and even the deaths, are significant and have a strong connection to some aspect of Voldemort and his life.'

'Except the last one,' Ron pointed out. 'A caretaker isn't what you'd call a particularly significant bloke. Just some old codger who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A bit like Myrtle.'

'Myrtle was a Hogwarts student, Ron,' said Hermione.

'And she was Muggle-born,' added Harry. 'Voldemort was continuing Slytherin's work getting rid of so-called _unworthy_ students.'

'Anyway, Ron.' Hermione started packing up their books. 'The sixth one hadn't been meant to be made then, it was supposed to have been made when he killed Harry.'

'Except Harry didn't die, did he? All he got was a scar. You-Know-Who was the one who nearly died. Not what you'd call a real successful night.'

'He successfully killed my parents,' Harry said quietly.

Ron went bright red and began stammering, 'I didn't … I didn't mean …'

'It's OK, Ron.' Harry searched for a change of subject, anything to get them off the topic of death. 'You ready to go down to the Great Hall?' He glanced at Hermione.

'Hermione?'

Probably to hide his embarrassment, Ron had dived under the table and was busily forcing books into his bag, so he didn't notice anything, but Harry knew immediately that something was wrong. Hermione was sitting opposite him, staring at him but not focused on him, a slightly glazed look in her eyes. Then, before his eyes, she seemed to come out of her trance as a look of absolute horror spread across her face.

'Hermione?' Harry reached across and touched her hand, causing her to start.

'_What?'_ she fairly squeaked. Harry could hear footsteps hurrying around the bookshelves. 'I'm fine.' Hermione brought her voice back down to normal and tossed the last of the books into her bag just as Ron resurfaced.

'Are you two coming?' Ron was still oblivious to the fact that anything had happened.

Hermione blinked. 'Where?'

'The feast, of course. Honestly, you'd stay in here all night if you had the chance.'

Behind Ron, Harry saw Madam Pince bearing down on them at high speed.

'We're coming.' Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and steered her towards the door, sneaking surreptitious glances at her. He thought she still seemed distracted, almost to the point of preoccupation, and wondered what was going on.

They were almost to the Great Hall when she finally began to fight against his grip and tried to hold him back.

'Harry,' she whispered, 'can I please borrow your Cloak?'

Harry stopped. 'Sure,' he replied slowly; Hermione's expression looked almost panicky. 'But tell me why first.'

'I need to speak to someone. Now.'

'And you need to be invisible to talk to them?'

'No!' She glanced around nervously as the last stragglers pushed past them, heading to the feast. 'I need to be invisible to get past the gates so I can Apparate to London.'

London?

'You won't get past the gates,' Harry told her. 'The protective wards can only be lifted by McGonagall. Anyway, you don't need to go all the way to London if you want to speak to a _certain person_.' He held her gaze a moment to telegraph that he meant Dumbledore. 'You can send a message via the portrait in my office.'

'What?' Hermione broke off gnawing at one of her fingernails. (Harry had never seen her do that before.) 'Um … no … I don't think that will be enough. I really need to speak to them face to face. Are you sure I can't get past the gate?'

'Positive. However, there's another way. Come with me.'

Ron had finally realised that he had left them several yards behind and was starting to backtrack when Harry and Hermione not only caught up, but rushed past him.

'Where are you two going? What about the feast?' he called, rather desperately.

'We'll be back soon,' Hermione called as they almost ran towards the front doors.

'Save us some pumpkin pie,' Harry added as he pulled the doors closed behind him.

'Harry, why are we heading towards Dumbledore's tomb?' Hermione trustingly allowed Harry to lead her across the grounds.

'You'll see.' Harry squinted through the darkness, guided by the white marble beacon on the shores of the lake. When they finally reached the tomb, he removed the ring from his right hand and slotted it into the eye socket.

Hermione traced her fingers along the outline of the phoenix. 'I never noticed this before.'

'Have you been back here since the funeral?' Harry took his wand out.

'Well, no; there didn't seem any point since it's empty.' She finally noticed what Harry was doing.

'It's a Portkey,' he explained, touching the crimson eye.

'Actually,' Hermione bit her lip nervously. 'I was wanting to speak to him alone. You don't mind, do you?' she glanced at Harry uncertainly.

'Oh, OK. I'll wait here for you then.' He watched Hermione closely as she pressed her own wand against the ring, but she wasn't giving anything away. 'You need to say –'

'I know how to activate a Portkey, Harry; Flitwick taught us in Charms two days ago.'

'So I heard,' Harry said dryly. Seamus Finnigan's attempt hadn't exactly been an unqualified success. Instead of Porting from one side of the Charms classroom to the other, he had instead wound up in the middle of one of Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, landing on top of two first-year Slytherins who had wasted no time testing their new skills on him. The only good thing about it was that Harry finally had a good reason to take points off Slytherin and not have McGonagall or Slughorn try to restore them. Flitwick was still trying to work out how Seamus had breached the school's Portation barriers.

'Anyway,' Harry continued, 'this one works a little differently. Instead of "one, two, three", you have to say. "Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."'

Harry knew Hermione's mind was elsewhere when she didn't gasp and promptly launch into a recollection of their first night at Hogwarts. Still a little worried about what was really going on, he watched with a certain amount of curiosity as Hermione dutifully recited Dumbledore's 'few words'. He had never actually watched someone else disappear by Portkey, having always been travelling with the Portkey himself, and was a little disappointed when she merely vanished as simply and smoothly as a blink. After all, there was nothing simple or smooth about the whirlwind of colours and sound which was the journey.

Wondering if he was being a little irreverent, Harry sat down on the tomb and waited for Hermione's return.

_x_

'And just what have you two been up to?'

Harry and Hermione pulled up just inside the front doors. Turning, they saw Filch leaning against the wall beside the door, Mrs Norris cradled in his arms.

'The feast started half an hour ago so, like I said, what have you been doing?'

'We were at Professor Dumbledore's tomb,' said Hermione, quite unashamedly. Harry shot her a nervous glance; she wasn't about to blurt out about the Portkey, was she?

''Ey?' Filch had clearly not expected an upfront answer. Students usually tried to dodge his interrogations, so this approach threw him momentarily.

'This is Halloween,' Hermione continued, 'and according to tradition, this is the one night of the year when the wall dividing the worlds of the living and the dead is at its weakest point. That's why ghosts roam more prevalently on this night. But it also means that living people can send messages to the other side more easily too. And that's what we were doing. We wanted to let Professor Dumbledore know how the battle against Lord Voldemort –' (Filch fairly jumped, almost dropping Mrs Norris) '– was going, and also that we miss him.' She said all this very quickly, leaving Filch looking like he had been left behind at the start.

Filch's eyes narrowed suspiciously as they darted from Hermione across to Harry, as if trying to find confirmation of what he had just heard or, at the very least, a translation. Harry tried very hard not to look guilty as the bloodshot eyes bored through him.

'You haven't been trying to send messages to Dumbledore,' he croaked, pleased with himself for seeing through them. Harry's insides plummeted. 'You've been making whoopee!'

Filch allowed Mrs Norris to leap out of his arms onto the floor so he could grasp both Harry and Hermione's arms in a vice-like grip and proceeded to drag them back outside.

Harry only wondered for a moment where they were going; mostly, he was struggling not to laugh, and he could tell Hermione was in the same boat. _Making whoopee?_

A couple of minutes later, Harry's mirth abated enough to register surprise as Filch banged on the door of Hagrid's hut.

'Back, Fang, back!' Hagrid yelled over the sudden noise of Fang trying to knock the door down, barking loudly all the while. A moment later, Hagrid opened the door, blocking the gap with his body to keep his giant boarhound from escaping. He gazed from Filch, leering evilly, to Harry and Hermione, shaking with suppressed laughter at the end of each of Filch's arms.

'Why aren' you lo' at the feast?'

'You're their Head of House, so I brought 'em to you for punishment,' announced Filch.

'Punishment?' Hagrid had no idea what was going on.

'These students have been outside without permission,' gloated Filch. 'Making whoopee,' he added impressively.

Both Harry and Hermione collapsed against Filch, almost knocking him over, tears streaming down their cheeks as they tried to choke back gales of laughter. Filch released their arms and grabbed a fistful each of their hair (they protested in pain, but still couldn't stop laughing), almost throwing them at Hagrid.

'The headmistress says Heads of House are to deal with students' crimes now, not me.' He scowled bitterly. 'So deal with them!'

Hagrid still stared at them stupidly.

'Punish them. They need to be punished!' Filch was almost screaming.

Hagrid gaped from Filch to Harry and Hermione (still laughing) and the Knut finally seemed to drop. He pulled himself up to his full (and massive) height.

'Righ'! You two, in here.' He roughly jerked Harry and Hermione through the doorway. 'An' _you,_' he glared angrily at Filch, 'can clear off**!'**

'I want to see 'em get –'

The door slammed in Filch's face.

Both Harry and Hermione had settled themselves down at the table and were making gulping noises trying to get themselves back under control as Hagrid turned to face them.

'Now.' He heaved himself into his armchair with a thump. 'Wha' was tha' Squib on abou' the two of yeh gettin' up ter stuff yeh shouldn'?'

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and promptly collapsed in fits of laughter again.

Hagrid gazed from one to the other and back several times, his anger mounting each time his head turned.

'Harry, wha' were yer thinkin'. Yer should know better. Teachers aren' allowed ter ge' involved with students. Professor McGonagall won' like it.'

Harry tried to remind Hagrid that he wasn't really a teacher, but he couldn't seem to be able to draw breath sufficiently to give his voice volume.

'An' yeh, Hermione.' Hagrid's voice changed from anger to disappointment so quickly, Harry almost choked, wincing as his side hurt. 'I though' yeh liked Ron?'

'I – I do, Hagrid,' Hermione gasped as she tried to sit up.

'Then what have yeh bin doin' with Harry?'

'Nothing, Hagrid, honestly.' Harry pressed a hand against his ribs. 'We just visited Dumbledore's tomb and Filch caught us on the way back in. You know what he's like – if you're not as miserable as him then you must have been up to something.'

'He's just jealous, Hagrid.' Hermione screwed her face up against the pain in her ribs. 'He's never even held hands with a girl so anything remotely romantic is a crime in his eyes.'

'So yeh_ were_ doin' somethin' with Harry?' Hagrid still looked disappointed.

'No!' Hermione winced again. 'But Filch wouldn't believe that.'

'Like you said, Hagrid,' Harry tried to draw calming breaths and hiccoughed, 'Hermione likes Ron. And I'm not going to let any girl get close to me until after Voldemort is dead –' ('Don' say tha' name!') '– so why on earth would Hermione and I be,' (he gasped for breath) '_making whoopee_?'

Both Harry and Hermione dissolved in fits of laughter again, though now it was punctuated by small yelps as their protesting muscles made themselves felt. Even Hagrid's face reddened and his tangled beard shook as he chuckled.

'No one's called it tha' since I were a lad.'


	13. Chapter 13: In Essence Divided

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER THIRTEEN –**

**In Essence Divided**

The next morning dawned bright with just a very slight nip in the air. Perfect conditions for the upcoming match. Harry allowed himself a few moments of lazily gazing at the sunlight on the ceiling, picturing the thrashing Slytherin were going to get, before kicking back his blankets and getting up.

'Nervous?' asked Ron when he joined Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall.

'Actually, no, I'm not.'

Ron looked dubious.

'I'm not,' Harry reaffirmed. 'Honest. I'm eating, aren't I?' He hungrily shovelled a large spoonful of porridge into his mouth as proof.

'Well, you're about the only one.' Ron glanced around at the other team members, ignoring the stack of toast Hermione had pushed in front of him.

Harry looked up. Fair enough, most of the team were still pretty new to this and probably had concrete blocks in the base of their stomachs (he knew that feeling only too well), but even Ginny wasn't eating. Harry found this odd because nothing ever seemed to faze Ginny. He had been counting on her confidence to help boost the team's morale. His nerves started to make themselves felt as he realised he might have to give them all a pep talk. He forced the next spoonful of porridge down with difficulty.

Hermione was watching him closely. Harry felt his face grow warm.

'What?'

It was almost with a sense of relief that he led the others down to the changing rooms. Even though he could hear excitement building out in the stands, Harry took as long as he could to change into his Quidditch robes, trying to stave off the moment when he would have to say something encouraging. He was in the middle of pulling his boots on (the rest of the team were changed, brooms in hand, and watching him expectantly) when McGonagall and Madam Hooch marched in, followed by the Slytherin team. Hermione slipped in quietly behind them, probably having sensed trouble brewing.

Immediately, every Gryffindor player stiffened warily.

'That one.' The new Slytherin captain, pointed at Harry.

'He does have a name, Mr Vaisey,' said McGonagall warningly. 'Please be so kind as to use it.'

Vaisey just glared at her insolently.

'What do that lot want?' Ron eyed the Slytherins with distrust.

'Your mate is breaking the law, Weasel king.'

All three Gryffindor chasers grabbed Ron and held him back.

'And what law am I supposed to have broken?' Harry had stepped in front of Ron and was now nose-to-nose with Vaisey.

The Slytherin waved his hand in front of his face as he took a staggering step back. 'Don't they pay their teachers enough so you can afford toothpaste?' Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly in the background.

'It's a pity I'm not teaching seventh year,' Harry threw back. 'I'd be able to give you detention for not answering a teacher's question.'

'You see,' said one of the Slytherin chasers. 'He admits it.'

'He admits what?' Ginny loosened her grip on Ron and tried to step around Harry.

'He's a _teacher_!' All seven Slytherins were grinning as if they had already won the match.

'Yeah, so?' Ritchie Cootes waved his bat.

'There seems to be some doubt as to whether you should be permitted to play, Potter,' McGonagall finally spoke up. 'The tournament is supposed to be for students.'

'He _is_ a student!' Ron was now glaring threateningly at McGonagall.

'Not to more than half your team.'

Everyone turned towards Vaisey's supporter.

'Hermione,' Harry was certain he hadn't heard correctly. 'Do you know what you just said?'

'Yes.' Hermione didn't seem at all concerned that both McGonagall and the entire Gryffindor team were staring at her, stunned. 'I just said the Slytherins are right; you shouldn't be team captain if you're a teacher.'

'But I'm not a teacher. I mean, I _am_ a teacher,' Harry stammered as McGonagall looked like she was going to launch into a lecture. 'But I'm also still a student; that's why I sleep in the Gryffindor dormitory and wear Gryffindor robes. _Student_ robes.'

'Why are you siding with them?' Ginny asked Hermione, throwing the smug-looking Slytherins a dirty look from behind McGonagall's back.

'Please be quiet, Miss Weasley.' McGonagall was still looking at Hermione, but with a considering expression, as though she was assessing the validity of her argument. 'Potter,' she finally dragged her eyes from Hermione, 'whom do you have to play in your stead?'

'_What?'_

McGonagall pulled a whistle out of the air and blew it in an attempt to bring order to the chaos of sound which had erupted around her. Once a very sullen silence had been restored to the changing rooms, she once again looked at Harry.

'Professor, surely you're not going to let a bunch of Slytherins tell you how to run the school? They're not even in your house.' Harry tried to keep a pleading tone out of his voice.

'Whether they are in my house or not is irrelevant.' She raised her voice slightly to forestall another outburst. 'The fact remains, they do have a valid point. Now, would you please answer my question?'

Harry stared back at her, dumbstruck. Why were people always trying to stop him doing the one thing he both enjoyed and was good at? First Quirrell, then Dobby, the Dementors, the Triwizard, Umbridge, Snape, and now the entire Slytherin team. _And Hermione!_

'Well?' McGonagall was still waiting.

Harry glanced around at his team desperately. 'Ginny, I suppose,' he mumbled, refusing to meet McGonagall's gaze.

'And who would you prefer to have replace you as captain?'

Harry did meet McGonagall's eyes this time, and knew immediately that she would brook no argument.

Again, he gazed around at his team-mates. Ritchie Cootes was bobbing up and down on his toes, an eager expression on his face, but the rest of the team plainly didn't want to lose Harry as their captain. However, if he did have to leave …

'Ron,' he said firmly, trying to ignore Ritchie's disappointed look as a chorus of jeers broke out from the Slytherin players, claiming favouritism.

'It's not favouritism.' Harry had to raise his voice to be heard over the din. 'If I can't be captain anymore, then the team is going to need someone who can step in and start doing the job at very short notice. Someone who has experience playing above form when the pressure is on, which Ron has done in _two_ finals; of all the team, only Ginny has as much playing experience, the rest of the team are pretty green; and when it comes to analysis and strategy, Ron could probably give Bobby Fisher a run for his money.'

'Who's Bobby Fisher?' asked Ginny.

'A Muggle,' Hermione answered her. 'World Chess champion.'

The Slytherins didn't seem to be able to find an argument against that one. Even though most of the students present hadn't been at Hogwarts when the Philosopher's Stone had been hidden there, the story of what happened in the dungeons was still commonly known. And Ron _did_ win fifty points which helped Gryffindor end Slytherin's seven-year winning streak with the House Cup.

McGonagall gazed at Ron, possibly remembering that it was her giant chess set which he had beaten.

'Very well, Potter.' She held out a hand. Harry unpinned the Captain's badge from his robes as she beckoned Ron forwards.

'Mr Weasley.' Her voice was quite solemn. 'I do hereby appoint you _Captain_ of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. May you lead your team to many glorious victories.' She spared Ron a rare smile as she pinned the badge below his Head Boy badge, Hermione leading a round of applause from the Gryffindors.

The Slytherins scowled as Ron's first duty as captain was to promote Hazel Dominic from the reserves to the regulars; Harry was willing to bet they had hoped Gryffindor would go on a player short.

'Is it all right to get the match underway now?' Madam Hooch glanced from Ron to Vaisey, who both nodded, Ron with far more enthusiasm than his Slytherin counterpart.

'I haven't got a broom,' Hazel piped up as both McGonagall and Hooch left.

Ron looked momentarily undecided; it would take more time to fetch one from the broom shed. Harry stepped forwards.

'This is my last act as Captain,' he said, drawing everybody's attention. 'Ginny, give Hazel your broom.'

'And what am I supposed to use?'

'Ron's broom – only for matches, of course,' he rushed on, as Ron looked slightly stricken at the prospect of losing his broom, even to his sister; a reward for being made prefect, it was about the only thing he owned (apart from his wished-for clothing) which hadn't been owned by someone else first.

'So what about me?' asked Ron as he passed his Cleansweep to Ginny. 'It's going to be a bit hard captaining the team when they're airborne and I'm still on the ground.'

'You,' Harry tried to control the grin threatening to split his face in two, 'will be flying …' he brought his arm up '... this!'

Ron's jaw dropped as he stared at the broom Harry was offering him. Gold letters spelling the word FIREBOLT twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the open doorway. The Slytherins had been in the middle of leaving when Harry's announcement had stopped them in their tracks.

Ron dragged his gaze from Harry's broom up to his face.

'Are you sure?' he whispered. Harry gave his grin full rein as he nodded.

'Only for matches, you understand, not for keeps. You don't mind, do you?'

'Mind?' Ron's eyes were almost popping out of his head. 'Why would I mind?' He tentatively reached a hand out and gently stroked the handle. Harry glanced over at Hermione and was pleased to see that she finally seemed to approve of one of his spur-of-the-moment decisions as the rest of the team crowded around to clap Ron on the back.

'Captain Weasley,' Hermione fought through the crowd to give him a hug and kiss. 'You have a match to win.' She stepped back. 'Go win it.'

To more applause from Harry, Hermione and the other Gryffindors, Ron pushed though the stunned Slytherins and led his team out onto the Quidditch pitch as McGonagall made the announcement about the change of captaincy.

Once the Slytherins had lumbered after them, Harry glanced back at Hermione. 'Coming?'

'You're not going out like that, are you?' She ran a bemused eye over his Quidditch uniform.

Harry resisted sticking his tongue out at her as he pulled the robes up over his head. 'Happy? Can we go now?' Cheers filtered through from the stands, signalling the start of the match.

Hermione pushed past Harry and peered cautiously around the door, blocking his exit. She slowly waved him forwards, but instead of heading over to the Gryffindor stands, she ducked around the back of the changing rooms, dragging Harry after her when he didn't immediately follow.

'Aren't we going to watch the match?' asked Harry, confused, trying to wrench his hand from Hermione's grip.

'Not at the moment, no.' Hermione dragged harder. 'We need to go to London.'

'NOW? What about the match? Don't you want to watch your boyfriend in his first match as captain?' Harry dug his heels in.

'Yes,' Hermione turned to face him, a look of pleading on her face, 'but this is important and we need to go now while everybody's busy looking the other way. Now, come on!' She started dragging him again.

It took them nearly ten minutes to reach Dumbledore's tomb, Harry struggling every inch of the way.

'Why can't we do this tonight?' Harry stubbornly refused to hand the ring over.

'Because we've already been caught out at night once; we can't afford to get caught again.'

'And you don't think anyone'll notice we're missing?'

'No.' Hermione grabbed Harry's clenched fist and tried to pry his fingers open. 'Professor McGonagall will think we're sitting with the students, the students will think I'm in the library and you're sitting with the teachers. And Ron will be too busy playing to notice anything else.' She finally wrenched the ring from Harry's finger but didn't release hold of his hand as she activated the Portkey, dragging him into the riot of colour with her.

_x_

The kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place materialised around them. Sitting at the table, calmly sharing a cup of tea, sat both Dumbledore and Lupin.

'Oh good,' Lupin looked up. 'You were able to get away.'

'No problems, I trust?' Dumbledore wanted to know.

'Only Harry,' Hermione replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down. 'He wanted to know what was going on and was most reluctant to co-operate as a result.'

'So you haven't told him anything?'

She shook her head. 'I thought it would be best coming from you; if-if I'm right.' She didn't sound at all sure of herself, which Harry found very surprising.

Dumbledore's brow wrinkled slightly. 'Yes; it would be best not to induce unnecessary panic until we know exactly what it is we are dealing with.'

Harry stared angrily at them. They were talking about him as if he wasn't there. 'And _why_ exactly would I be unnecessarily panicking?' he asked, making Hermione start slightly at the sharpness in his voice.

Dumbledore gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. 'Miss Granger has brought to my attention a possibility which I had previously not considered, concerning yourself and Lord Voldemort. Now, I am not certain if she is correct, so I asked her to bring you here that I may test the accuracy of her theory.

'And her theory is what?' Harry eyed all three of them warily. If it had anything to do with Voldemort, it probably wasn't good.

'Not yet.' Dumbledore raised his left hand to stop Harry as he drew breath to protest. 'First I need to discover if there is anything to explain.' Glancing at Lupin, he said, 'Shall we get on with it?'

As Lupin rose from his chair, Dumbledore continued, 'The charm we need to use requires great strength of power, which I have had in very short supply for the past few months, even with the help of Professor Snape's ministrations, so Professor Lupin has kindly consented to perform the test.' He raised a brow. 'You do want to defeat Voldemort, don't you?'

Harry nodded slowly.

'Then think of this as your initiation into the Order of the Phoenix.'

Harry frowned. 'You're letting me join the Order? But I'm still at school.'

'Only part time.' Lupin was rolling up his sleeves.

'And you think McGonagall will agree with that?'

'You shall be taking your orders from me, not Minerva,' said Dumbledore.

Harry glanced uncertainly from Dumbledore to Lupin. 'And what exactly does this test entail?'

'Professor Lupin will need to borrow your wand, Harry, then he will touch it to your scar.' (Harry unconsciously rubbed his forehead.) 'He will then perform a special Revealing Charm.'

'And then what?'

'I don't know. I've never heard of this Charm being performed on a live person before. It is normally used on inanimate objects to learn if they have been impregnated with concealed magic.'

_Concealed magic? _'Will it hurt?'

'Again, I do not know.' Dumbledore watched him closely. 'If it is any consolation, Remus is also taking a risk. You may end up doing more harm to him than he does to you.' Harry's eyes flicked to Lupin, who nodded.

Looking around at the three of them, he realised that they weren't trying to hurt him; just help him defeat Voldemort any way possible. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. 'OK then.'

'Excellent.' Dumbledore visibly relaxed. Harry hadn't realised he had been concerned that his proposal would be rejected; after all, he could easily have made it an order.

Harry took out his wand and handed it to Lupin. 'Do I need to stand?' he asked, half-rising.

'No, no, Harry,' Dumbledore waved him back down. 'Just slide your chair back from the table and turn it slightly so Professor Lupin can stand before you easily.' After Harry had done this, Dumbledore gave Remus a slight nod.

Lupin's pale gaze met Harry's as the tip of the wand made contact with his scar. 'Ready?'

Harry gazed back. 'Ready.'

He saw Lupin's lips move, but couldn't hear what the words were, for he was suddenly deafened by a very high-pitched, very loud scream. He felt something pulling him from behind, (or was everything rushing forwards?) then he found himself standing outside a house, not Grimmauld Place, and it was night.

Gazing up at the house, he smiled inwardly. Good! The fools had not placed too-complicated wards around the property. They obviously thought their Secret Keeper was protection enough. A good thing they hadn't decided to use Bellatrix's cousin after all. Ever since Snape had told him, over a year ago, of a prophecy about his destruction, he had been frantic to find where the Potters were hiding.

And now he had them. All he had to do was kill the boy, create his final Horcrux, and he would be indestructible. Flicking his wand, he dissolved the charms on the front door, and it swung open.

Entering the hall, he heard a shout above him, and looked up. Potter was standing halfway up the stairs, pointing his wand at the man who had just entered his house illegally. His wife was hurrying up the stairs, disappearing from view at the top, no doubt attempting to protect her son.

So they weren't going to make this easy. No matter. Killing the boy's parents as well would be no problem for one who had killed his own father when he was still in his teens.

Potter cast a Freezing Charm but deflecting it was simple. Why did they always try to fight him? You would think after so many deaths, Dumbledore's minions would know better.

Deflecting another charm, he pointed his wand at the boy's father and hissed, _'Avada Kedavra.'_ A bright green flash of light filled the air and Potter fell down the stairs, landing at his feet. Potter's face stared up at the ceiling, the shocked expression displaying disbelief. _So stupid._ He stepped over the body and slowly began to climb the stairs.

At the top, he glanced along the hallway, unsure which door hid his quarry. However, a light glowing faintly from beneath the door furthest from the landing indicated the logical place to commence his search.

Easily opening the door with another flick of his wand, he entered the room.

As the door burst open, a woman's scream shattered the brittle silence. His eyes swept the room in a second before being drawn to the young woman in the centre of the room. And in the crib beyond her…

He felt exhilaration course through him as a smile split his face. At last! That stupid prophecy would be stopped, once and for all. He took a step towards the boy…

Suddenly, the woman was blocking him, screaming at him. He had almost forgotten about her.

'_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!'_

'Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside now.' He tried to push past her.

'_Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy.'_

He tried to move her out of his way, but she, amazingly, deflected the spell. And she didn't even have her wand out. No Mudblood should have that much power.

'_Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'_

'Stand aside – stand aside girl – ' He was getting really angry now. The boy was so close!

'_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead – '_

That grabbed his attention. He gazed at her … surprised. She was actually begging for death. It was not the first time someone had pleaded for him to end their life, but the others had desperately desired death as an escape – usually from pain. Nobody had ever _offered_ themselves before. This was a new experience for him – being presented with the opportunity to fulfil desires other than his own.

And she truly did desire death; he could see it in the depths of those green eyes. Such a beautiful colour, green …

His own desire making every fibre of his being tingle, he pointed his yew-encased phoenix tail feather at her and hissed the two most powerful words in existence; and, so doing, ended her existence, extinguishing the light in those eyes as the room was bathed in the glow of that most beautiful colour.

As the flash of green faded with his laughter, he felt pain deep within him, so sharp he almost doubled over from it. _That had certainly never happened before._ And it wasn't easing up. He felt angry at himself, at his weakness. He had worked so hard to banish all weakness from himself. After all, hadn't he made himself impossible to kill? Admittedly, it had come at a price: with each Horcrux he had created, his once-handsome features had blurred and changed, and he had found it that much more challenging to make his body not tire so quickly; but what were looks and physical strength compared to _power_?

He savoured the word, tasting it, using its strength to pull him forwards through the pain to where the boy lay in his crib, screaming with fear.

He looked down at the terrified face. _So this was the child who was going to destroy him._ It seemed almost pitiful that he – the greatest, most powerful dark wizard of all time – had feared this small, pathetic child.

He blinked to clear his vision, which had blurred as a result of the pain building deep within him. He tried to massage the muscles responsible but found it difficult to pinpoint the exact spot. Very odd. Best just to get on with what he had come for.

As he gazed once more at the boy's screaming face, he felt the first twinge of doubt – not of his motives, but his ability. The pain was so debilitating now, he was no longer confident he would have strength enough to kill the child and then perform the complex Dark magic needed to create his final Horcrux. He felt certain (although he did not know how) that he would definitely not have any strength remaining to bury the Horcrux deep within the boy's body.

It would be the perfect hiding place, he had decided. Dumbledore, that Mudblood-loving old fool who wouldn't see past the end of his crooked nose to notice the power lying at his fingertips, would ensure that the boy's poor hapless body would be enshrined in an impenetrable tomb, protected for all time; partly out of reverence for the one who should have destroyed his enemy, partly to assuage his own guilt. Unable to protect Harry Potter in life, he would protect him in death, ensuring none else could ever use the boy for even darker means; and in so doing, _seal his enemy's immortality_.

But now, suddenly, he knew his strength would not last through each of the three steps. He would be more successful if he combined the steps. Yes, that would be best; do it quickly, then hopefully this pain would cease.

Concentrating as hard as he could, he reached deep within his being and grasped his soul. The pain trebled. _Concentrate!_ he admonished himself as the room seemed to tilt and darkness began to creep in at the edges of his blurred vision.

Raising his wand and touching it to the boy's forehead, he tugged at his soul. The tiny scrap tore in two as his rasping voice almost screamed the words, _'Avada Kedavra'_; at the same time, he focused deep within the boy to channel the precious piece of his being into its sacred keepsake.

His red eyes squeezed shut against the white light burning his eyelids, and he felt a hard barrier strike his head so that it seemed to burst open.

In a split second of thought, he realised he had fallen forwards and butted his forehead against the boy's, his wand trapped between them at a point which felt like lightning shooting through him, around him, the roar of the bolts splitting the floor beneath him as his very being seemed also to split.

He tried to focus on a spell, any spell, which would stop the house from collapsing completely and crushing him, trapping him for the Aurors to find, but he could no longer feel the magic. All he could feel was pain: pain without beginning, without end, without solid fact.

For _he_ was no longer solid fact.

As he felt his being sink as low as a snake and flow forth upon the pain, the last thought which screamed through his consciousness was, _'How did a small, helpless child, which had proved itself too weak to even bear his soul, condemn him to this lowly, painful, powerless non-existence, less than his soulless servants in Azkaban?_

_HOW?_

_x_

Harry's eyes stung. He tried to blink them but they wouldn't obey him; it was as if they were being forced open. Struggling to ignore his panic, he tried to fight against the force but with no success.

Then, as if from a great distance, a frail voice said, 'You may release him, Miss Granger. He's back with us.'

Finally free to rapidly blink moisture into his too-dry eyes, Harry felt around for his glasses, confusion overcoming his panic as he discovered that he was lying on a cold stone floor with (even more confusing) several pieces of timber pressed between his thighs. He tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed him back down.

'Lie still for a few moments, Harry.'

Harry frowned. What was Lupin doing here? Then memory came rushing at him like a tidal wave, making him gasp with shock.

'It's all right, Harry.' Lupin squeezed his hand comfortingly. 'You're home now. You're safe.'

Harry still scrabbled around for his glasses and felt a rush of relief when they were pressed into his hand. Able to see clearly once more, he surveyed his surroundings.

Hermione was leaning against the kitchen table, a terrified look on her face. Lupin was crouched down beside him, gently trying to pry Harry's legs apart so he could remove pieces of broken chair. He gave Harry a reassuring smile, though it did nothing to reduce the ageing of his concerned features.

Blinking again, Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, whose blue eyes peered into his. Harry had the feeling they had been gazing deeply into his for some time.

Too deeply.

'You just used Legilimency on me.' It wasn't a question.

Dumbledore's solemn smile was hard to see beneath the moustache.

'Good.' Harry breathed shakily. 'Then you can explain to me what that was all about.'

To his annoyance, Dumbledore shook his head.

'Not now, Harry,' Dumbledore's voice echoed the anxiety etched on his ancient face. 'We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Both yourself and Miss Granger need to return to Hogwarts before your absence is noticed.'

Harry felt a flash of anger at being treated like a child. He glared up at Dumbledore, stubbornly refusing to move until someone told him what was going on.

'Please Harry,' begged Hermione. 'We really do need to go. It's been three hours.'

_Three hours?_ Harry jerked around to check the clock above the stove. Where had the time gone?

'Now do you understand the need for urgency?' asked Lupin quietly.

Nodding distractedly, Harry allowed Lupin to help him to his feet while Hermione gathered the ring from the centre of the table.

'Any instructions, Professor?' she asked Dumbledore.

'Yes,' said Dumbledore, watching Harry closely. 'Don't tell Harry anything about what we just witnessed.' He quickly raised a burnt finger as Harry opened his mouth. 'I'm afraid I am going to pull rank and insist that _I_ be the one to enjoy that privilege. But not yet,' he told Harry. 'First we need to get you safely back to school. I'll let you know when I am able to discuss this matter, but it may not be until close to Christmas. In the meantime, concentrate on your work at Hogwarts – on both sides of the desk. I understand you have quite a lot of essays to correct.' The silver moustache twitched.

'Most importantly, do nothing to arouse _anybody's_ suspicions.'

_x_

'OK, so what was that all about?' Harry asked as they trudged up the slope leading from the lake.

'We're not allowed to talk about it.'

'To anybody else; that doesn't mean we can't talk about it between ourselves.'

Hermione spun around, a very stern look on her face. 'No! Now come on, I think the match might be finished.'

Harry stared after her, his ears subconsciously straining towards the Quidditch stadium. She was right; the game did seem to be over, a conclusion confirmed by the sight of Ron coming down the front steps towards them.

'Where did you two disappear to? Ginny said you didn't watch us play!'

'Of course we watched the match,' said Hermione.

'OK, what was the score?' Ron glared at them in challenge.

'Er …'

Disgust spread across Ron's face Ron's face as he turned away from them.

'Ron, wait.' Harry hurried up the steps after his friend. 'We were –'

'Harry, no!'

Harry spun around. 'What, we can't even tell Ron?' Harry couldn't believe that Hermione wanted to extend Dumbledore's order to Ron.

Ron's curiosity got the better of him. 'Can't tell me what?'

'Nothing!' Hermione said stubbornly.

'_Hermione!_'

'No, Harry. Not one word.'

'Not one word about _what_?' Ron was still watching the two of them, no doubt hoping that someone would explain what was going on, but all Harry and Hermione did was glare at each other, Harry in frustration and pleading, Hermione very much don't-you-dare. Silence stretched between them.

Ron glowered at them. 'Fine! Don't tell me! See what I care!'

Wheeling around, he galloped angrily up the steps, his entire demeanor making it quite clear that he cared very much.

Over the following weeks, only Harry's massive workload kept him from giving Ron the thumping he deserved; he was too exhausted to lift a finger.

Ginny had cornered him, demanding to know what he'd fallen out with Ron over this time ('I didn't fall out with him; he fell out with me!') and when Harry only told her that it wasn't romantic and was very important but refused to give her details, she didn't help the situation at all by taking Ron's side against Harry and Hermione. She even refused to be go-between and mediator.

Hermione, also, was in Harry's bad books because she refused to back down and allow him to explain to Ron what was going on or even give Harry that explanation.

During the second week of November, Dumbledore sent Harry a cutting from a catalogue for a company which converted dreams and memories to a more tangible format. They usually worked with law enforcement bodies, recreating witnessed scenes for criminal hearings, but also ran a profitable sideline preserving much happier memories such as weddings and birthdays. Dumbledore had suggested that getting the memory of their World Cup match converted to a three-dimensional model might be an ideal Christmas gift for Ron.

Harry's first impulse had been to throw the advertisement straight into the fire, but Sirius's portrait had argued that, once Ron was permitted to learn the truth about Harry and Hermione's little … excursion … he and Harry would be the best of friends again. And what better gift to give to his best friend?

Examining the clipping closely, Harry decided to order the deluxe model. This consisted of two modes – original playback, which replayed their World Cup match exactly as it had happened, and role-playing, where you could change the players, teams, outcome and moves, directing the action like a chess match. You could even add memories of other matches, making it a valuable tool for coaching purposes, since it enabled a captain to see exactly how his team would play against other teams.

So, despite the hefty price tag, he had sent Hedwig winging her way to Switzerland with a phial of his memory. But he had difficulty remaining positive about what the expression on Ron's face would be when he opened his present on Christmas Day.

As November froze into a glittering December, hinting at the approach of the festive season, the mood was anything but festive. Voldemort's forces continued to evade the Ministry's efforts to bring them to justice and, as a result of a spate of particularly vicious attacks, eight students joined Harry in the ranks of orphans, five of them – all Ravenclaws – from the one family. Harry hadn't realised there had been another wizarding family as prolific at childbearing as the Weasleys until he had started teaching and came across the same name recurring four times on his class registers.

Ron was still refusing to speak to either Harry or Hermione, which the rest of the school couldn't help but notice, and this gave rise to much speculation as to the reason. The most ridiculous which Harry managed to hear claimed that he was having problems on the romance front – having had no success with Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley – and Hermione was giving him private classes behind Ron's back. And it was –

'…Only natural that Weasley would be –'

'Now, now, Mr Macmillan, a little less talk, a little more attention to the task at hand, please.' Slughorn remarked as the Hufflepuff's Vanishing Potion began to overflow.

Harry glanced up from his own cauldron. It was unusual for Slughorn to discourage gossip, especially if there was a chance he could learn some juicy news about his favourite student. The next moment, his worst fears were realised as the corpulent professor's eyes roved over Harry's table, taking in the three friends sitting as far apart as possible and refusing to look at each other. The walrus moustache stretched above a broad smile.

'Harry,' Slughorn leaned in close; Harry suppressed a groan, 'Harry. Been meaning to have a word about my Christmas party. Last night of term, same as last year. Excellent success, last year's party, don't you think?'

Harry gave a non-committal grunt as he stirred powdered lionfish spines into his potion.

'Well, this year's party would hardly come close without my star apprentice …' (Harry dropped the spoon into the sticky brew and managed to splash Ernie Macmillan's book as he struggled to fish it out; Slughorn didn't seem to notice) '… and I know I've been a bit lax not speaking to you sooner, but you'll have no trouble attending, will you?'

Harry looked up and finally met Slughorn's gaze full on.

'Miss Granger has already accepted, so you'll be able to make a date of it.' Slughorn didn't seem to realise that he was skating on very thin ice.

Harry saw Ron glance up, his face turning red.

'I don't think so, Professor.'

'Horace, Harry; we are fellow teachers.'

'_Professor_,' Harry stressed, making it clear that their relationship would remain at arms length. 'I won't be able to make it; I'm going to be too busy with correction and homework –'

'Oh, I'm sure I can get Minerva to give you the night off.' Slughorn smiled self-confidently. Harry wasn't worried; there was very little chance of McGonagall allowing pleasure to come before work.

'Have you asked Ron to the party?' he threw at Slughorn, catching the Potions teacher off-centre.

'Er … Mr Weas –'

'He _is _Head Boy, after all,' Harry continued before Slughorn could draw breath. 'And he comes from a very accomplished family.'

Over at the Slytherin table, Zabini snorted loudly. 'That lot _accomplished_? What are you comparing them to … a litter of pigs?' Since Malfoy's incarceration in Azkaban had made it impossible for him to continue the post of Slytherin prefect, McGonagall had appointed Zabini as his replacement and the fellow Potions student had decided this meant picking up where Malfoy had left off: being as mean and arrogant to Harry, Ron and Hermione as he possibly could.

'Why would I want to compare them to your family?' Harry tossed back as Slughorn tried to calm things down.

'Now, gentlemen –'

Both boys ignored him.

'Don't you talk about my family like that!'

'Why not?' Harry raised his voice to be heard over the jeering at the Slytherin table. 'What has your family ever done?'

'Now, Harry,' Slughorn tried again to get between the two combatants as Zabini threw his chest out, showing off his prefect badge. 'There is the little matter of his mother –'

'What, because she bumped off seven husbands just so she can get her hands on all of their money?' Harry glared at Zabini's sneering face. 'Ron's family has produced three Head Boys, three Quidditch players including two captains, a pair of extremely successful businessmen, a Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, and head of the _Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects_. And Ron's done more than any of them had at his age; he's both Head Boy _and_ Quidditch captain, he's been instrumental in Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup for the last two years, he helped delay Voldemort's return by three years and he's still helping in the fight against Voldemort. Seeing you're a snobby Slytherin, are you and your family doing anything to stop him and his cohorts? Or _are_ your family his cohorts?'

'Boys, _please_!' cried Slughorn desperately, but too late. Zabini tried to hit Harry with a curse but Harry had no trouble deflecting it. Unfortunately, Ernie Macmillan also threw in a Shield charm, making Zabini's curse hit a Ravenclaw cauldron. Vanishing Potion exploded everywhere, splashing the other two Slytherins and hitting Zabini full in the face. Screams echoed around the dungeon as Zabini rolled around on the floor, his hands scrabbling over his face, which was disappearing at a rapid rate. Just as he had when Ron had been poisoned, Slughorn merely stood there, at a complete loss as to what to do. The trouble was, so was Harry; a bezoar wouldn't help here.

Suddenly, Hermione pushed past Harry and rushed into Snape's old office. They could hear her muttering 'Where is it?' and the sound of clinking glass, then she came rushing out with a bottle of red liquid. Perplexingly, she grabbed both Harry and Ron's hands, wrapped them around the bottle and held them there with her own tight grip, She then poured the bottle's contents onto Zabini's face. His nose regrew before their eyes. The screaming stopped instantly.

'What do you think you're doing?' Zabini scrambled to his feet and wiped the red potion from his face (he looked like he was bleeding), glaring at Hermione the whole time with a murderous expression.

'Saving your life!' Hermione glared back, hands on hips. 'You now owe a life debt to the three of us, so you'd better tell your naked buddies to back off because if any of us die, so do you!'

Slughorn finally emerged from his shock enough to register what Hermione had just said.

'Naked buddies?' An expression – half bemusement, half confusion – started to spread across his face. 'Why would you say – Oh!'

The whole class was staring at the Slytherins. When Terry Boot's potion had splashed Zabini's House-mates, it had hit their clothes, making them Vanish.

Where, moments before, the room had been full of the sound of screaming, it now rang with laughter as Slughorn snatched the potion bottle from Hermione, only to discover that it was empty. Several more minutes were wasted, much to the Slytherin's chagrin (and everyone else's delight), as Slughorn tried to find something to cover them with. Reluctant to sacrifice one of his precious smoking jackets, he had tried to commandeer one of the Gryffindor's cloaks but Harry, Ron and Hermione argued off helping by pointing out that, as teacher, Head Boy and Head Girl, they weren't obliged to do as requested if they didn't want to since it wasn't a matter of life or death. The Ravenclaws likewise refused to help, angry that one of their cauldrons had been destroyed. Even the threat of lost points didn't work because they knew they would win them back easily through academic prowess.

Finally, Slughorn had no choice but to confiscate Zabini's cloak and rip it in two, fashioning the torn pieces into new clothes with a flick of his wand.

'What did you want to go and save a _Slytherin_ for?' demanded Ron when they started to head back up to the Entrance Hall.

Hermione turned back towards him. 'Talking to me again, are you?'

'Just answer the –'

'Mr Weasley.' Slughorn's round frame plugged the doorway behind them; he was looking up at Ron with an appraising expression. 'I'd like to have a word, please.'

Ron blinked at Slughorn, then up at Harry and Hermione who offered no help, then back at Slughorn. 'Er …'

Slughorn stepped back, allowing room to pass and leaving Ron without much choice but to comply.

'So, what did Professor Slughorn want?' asked Hermione when he got back up to Gryffindor Tower. The common room went extremely quiet. It was the first time in weeks that the friends had been heard to say anything to each other which wasn't above five hundred decibels, so everyone tensed themselves, ready for the explosion.

It didn't come.

'He wanted to invite me to that party of his.' Ron kicked a fourth-year out of an armchair in front of the fire and collapsed into its warmed cushions. He glanced over at Harry. 'Why did you tell him all that stuff about me, anyway?'

'Because it's true.' Harry leaned forward. 'Think about everything you've done since you started here, think about the Mirror of Erised. You saw yourself as Head Boy _and _Quidditch captain, remember?'

Ron's eyes glazed over as he gazed into the distant past and a goofy grin slowly spread across his face. 'Yeah, I did, didn't I?' He continued to stare into space.

Harry snuck a quick glance at Hermione, then grabbed Ron's hand.

'Where are we going?' Ron allowed himself to be dragged after his friend.

'Somewhere private.' Harry continued to drag. 'We need to talk.'

'Harry.' Hermione jumped up. 'We're not supposed to tell him anything, remember?'

Harry turned to her as he pushed Ron up the stairs leading to his room. 'I'm not going to tell him _anything_; I'm just going to tell him what he needs to know.'

'Am I finally going to find out where you disappeared to when we murdered Slytherin?' Ron stood in the middle of Harry's room, staring at them expectantly.

'We went to London,' Harry said in a rush before Hermione could stop him.

'London?' Ron gazed from one to the other, a blank expression on his face. 'Why did you go to – _Oh_!' Comprehension flashed in his eyes like a light going on. 'You mean you went to –?'

'Yes,' Hermione butted in. 'And we're not allowed to talk about it at all, not even amongst ourselves.' She glared pointedly at Harry.

Harry sighed heavily. 'I'm sorry, Ron. He won't let us say anything more.'

'He?'

'_He_,' Harry stressed.

'Ohhh!' Dawning spread across Ron's face again. 'And he doesn't think I can be trusted to keep a secret?' He sounded hurt.

'He doesn't trust _me_ with the secret,' replied Harry. 'He said he needed time to think over something then, when he's got something to explain, he'll explain it.

Ron frowned. 'Yeah, sounds like the sort of crazy thing he'd come out with.'

'And despite what the whole school is buzzing about, Hermione has _not_ been cheating on you, least of all with me.'

Ron glanced across at Hermione. 'So we're still on?'

'You're the only one who ever said we were off.' Hermione flopped angrily onto Harry's bed.

Ron beamed. 'Come here you.' He tried to pull Hermione into his arms but she rolled away from him.

'What makes you think I'll come running back just because you clicked your fingers?'

'I would have thought you'd want to.' Ron's ears were starting to turn red. Harry edged towards the door.

'The least you could do is apologise.' Harry noticed that Hermione was almost in tears.

'For what?' cried Ron. 'You're the one who was cheating on me!'

'I was _not_ cheating on you!' Hermione shouted back. 'Harry just told you that.'

'So what do _I_ have to apologise for?'

'For _thinking_ that I would cheat on you in the first place!'

'But … everybody said …' Ron gaped at Hermione, seemingly unable to say the words she needed to hear.

'Ron,' said Harry quietly. 'I'd apologise, if I were you. I think you owe Hermione that much, at least.'

Ron glared at Hermione. 'You want an apology?'

Hermione sobbed. 'I don't want you to apologise because that's what you've been told to do. I want you to apologise because you _want_ to, because you _mean_ it.' She got up off the bed and started to leave.

'Fine!' Ron grabbed her as she passed. 'See if I don't mean this!' And before she had a chance to react, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

For all her anger towards him, it didn't take Hermione long to surrender to Ron's assault, both of them wrapping their arms tightly around each other as if afraid they might get away.

Leaving them to make up for lost time, Harry quietly shut the door behind him and snuck down to his office.

When the three best friends went down to dinner and were seen not just eating together, but laughing merrily over what had happened in Potions, all of the students (and several teachers) were left scratching their heads, wondering what the last month had been about.

But, whatever the reason for the weird bust-up … and even weirder make-up … Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn't have timed things better. The following weekend was a Hogsmeade visit and so provided the ideal opportunity to buy last-minute Christmas presents. It also provided the perfect cover for a secret rendezvous.

'Did anyone notice you?' Remus Lupin's eyes quickly scanned the snowy street.

'No.' Harry grinned, his breath fogging in the cold. 'I have had some practise at sneaking around.'

'Ron and Hermione on a date?' asked Lupin conversationally as they started to wander along the street.

'Mmm.' Harry nodded.

'And what about Ginny?'

Even though the question was thrown out casually, Harry could feel Lupin watching him. 'She's with Neville.'

Lupin stopped. 'The way I understood it, Ginny and _you_ were quite the couple. I don't recall a lover's tiff over the summer, so what happened?'

Lupin's steady gaze told Harry he wasn't going to let this drop. He scowled. 'What do you think happened? Voldemort of course! Every time I get close to somebody, he makes sure something happens to them. I'm too dangerous to know right now. Maybe after …' He stared at the window of _Gladrags Wizard Wear_, refusing to look at Lupin and noticed not just their reflections, but also –

'Don't react,' said Lupin as Harry started to tense.

'You knew he was tailing us?' Harry didn't know whether to feel angry that he hadn't realised sooner or that Lupin had and didn't say anything.

'I spotted him two shops back. Considering his training, you'd think he wouldn't be so noticeable. Fancy getting a Butterbeer?'

The last part rolled so smoothly off Lupin's tongue, it took Harry a moment to realise what he'd said. 'Er … yeah … sure, if you want.' He took another glance at Dawlish's reflection before starting towards the Three Broomsticks. Dropping his voice right down, he asked 'Do you think he's watching me to protect me or spy for Scrimgeour?'

'Oh, definitely the latter.' Lupin kept up an easy pace both walking and speaking so as not to arouse suspicion; Harry tried to match it. 'According to Dora, the Aurors have been told to keep an eye on you to ensure your _safety and well-being_ but, considering the only ones who have been taken off all their other duties to allow them time to look out for you are Scrimgeour's closest allies, I'll leave the interpretation of reasoning behind it to your good self.

'And from now on,' the quiet voice dropped even lower, 'you are simply a young man out having a drink with one of your dead father's old friends and getting me to reminisce about your parents and godfather. No mention whatsoever of former teachers, destinies or uncovered undercover agents.' He opened the door of Madam Rosmerta's pub and they allowed themselves to become lost in the very noisy crowd.

_x_

The rest of the month was lost in the rush of end-of-term essays and anticipation of who would be the special guest at the Slug Club Christmas party. After last year's attendance by a real vampire, Slughorn had gone all out to top it, inviting none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry hadn't believed Ron and Hermione at first when they told him who the special guest had been; there was no way St Mungo's would have let him out of the Sealed Ward. But, apparently, Lockhart had continued to improve further in the two years since Harry had seen him last, progressing from joined-up writing to understanding that it was his autograph that he was signing.

Slughorn had miscalculated terribly, though, if he thought Lockhart's former fame would somehow reflect upon himself. Not only had Lockhart not remembered the overweight 'friend to the stars' (and nobody seemed to be able to prove that the two _had_ ever known each other in their former lives), but he had spent most of the party escaping his nurse and signing his autograph all over every surface he could lay his ostrich feather quill to – tablecloths, walls and even across the back of Slughorn's gold velvet smoking jacket – using two whole bottles of Slughorn's most expensive brandy for the ink.

The party had come to a very disastrous close when Lockhart finally managed to slip out through the door (his escape made all the easier by his nurse curling up in a corner, too drunk to know what was going on around her). He was last seen trying to explain to a suit of armour on the fifth floor that it really needed to apply at least three buckets of Dermexem's Body Lotion to its entire body every day if it wanted its skin to become much more supple and baby-soft than it was at the moment.


	14. Chapter 14: Christmas Surprises

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER FOURTEEN –**

**Christmas Surprises**

After seeing Ron and Hermione depart for their respective homes next morning, Harry settled down to get two days of correcting done while he still had the chance before he joined the other teachers in sharing dinner in the staff room on Christmas Eve. Apparently, it was a tradition going back over six hundred years and, since he was a teacher, he hadn't been able to avoid attending. Keen to keep McGonagall from asking awkward questions, Harry felt it best to attend and, since it apparently went long into the night (it was the one time the teachers really let their hair down) and he didn't want to keep Mrs Weasley up half the night waiting for him, he decided he wouldn't go to The Burrow until Christmas morning.

Unknown to the both McGonagall and Mrs Weasley though, he had no intention of spending the night at Hogwarts.

Sneaking through the snowy night to Dumbledore's tomb, Harry looked forward to warming himself in front of the fire in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Instead, he found himself in a much colder atmosphere. One glance at Dumbledore's face and the marrow within his bones seemed to freeze.

'Who died?' he asked, wishing Dumbledore would stop staring at him like he knew he had to say the one thing he wished he would never have to say.

'Place your wand in the centre of the table and sit down.'

No pleasantries, no kind tone. Harry remained standing, ice trickling down his spine.

'It's Professor Lupin, isn't it?' Harry's stomach felt like a lump of cement.

'Nobody has died, Harry, least of all Remus Lupin.' Dumbledore still stared at him with that terrifying look on his face. 'Now sit down!'

Reluctantly, Harry forced his legs to bend as he took his wand out and put it on the table. As soon as he was seated, a bell chimed seven times and the surrounding kitchen blurred. It looked like he was viewing it through a window on a rainy day. He glanced, startled, at Dumbledore.

'It's all right, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'It's a Secrecy Cocoon. It activated when you sat down. I just want to be extremely certain that our discussion is private.'

'Secrecy Cocoon?'

Dumbledore took a deep shaky breath. 'It is an aid employed by Aurors during such matters as interrogating Death Eaters and is highly suspicious of anything resembling good manners. Had I greeted you politely, the Cocoon would have folded in upon itself, sucking its immediate surroundings into nothingness with it.'

That explained the abrupt tone.

'It sounds like a Dementor.' Harry gave a shudder.

'It was inspired by the Dementors.' Dumbledore's voice echoed the disgust he felt towards Azkaban's former guards.

Harry gazed at Dumbledore. Despite his assurance that his uncharacteristic rudeness was merely to satisfy the requirements of the Secrecy Cocoon, his eyes still betrayed his dread of a most difficult and painful task.

'Does all this have anything to do with that test you got Professor Lupin to do on me last month?' The lump in Harry's stomach wasn't getting any smaller.

'Unfortunately, yes,' Dumbledore sighed. 'Do you recall, when you realised that I had used Legilimency on you, you asked me to explain "what that was all about"?'

Harry nodded. 'You refused because Hermione and I had to get back to school.'

'That was the more urgent reason, yes. But I also wanted time to closely examine and analyse the evidence which the test had uncovered. I have considered the results and am afraid that I can find no other interpretation.'

'And what did you find?' Harry knew this wouldn't be good.

'Lord Voldemort's sixth Horcrux,' said Dumbledore heavily.

Harry felt a jolt of surprise. 'But that's great! Is-isn't it?' he faltered as Dumbledore's expression remained serious.

'Ordinarily, such news would be cause for elation but unfortunately, in this instance, it is not.'

'Why? What _is_ the Horcrux, sir?'

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze. 'You, Harry.'

'Me?' Harry stared uncomprehendingly at Dumbledore, who nodded sadly.

'Your scar. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner,' he murmured, shaking his head. 'It all makes perfect sense now.'

'What makes perfect sense, sir?' Harry tried to understand how he could be a Horcrux without realising it, but gave up.

Dumbledore gazed up at Harry. 'What do you remember of the test Remus performed upon you?'

Harry didn't need to cast his mind back; the memory of his parents' murders and Voldemort's downfall had haunted all his sleeping hours since, and several waking ones as well.

'I saw Voldemort murdering my parents. I _was_ Voldemort murdering my parents.'

'And shared Voldemort's thoughts and feelings?' Dumbledore prompted.

Harry nodded.

'Do you recall what Lord Voldemort was going to do when he murdered you?'

'I – _he_ was going to turn me into a Horcrux,' Harry said tonelessly. 'But he didn't succeed. My mother's protection stopped him and made the Avada Kedavra rebound back on him.

'That is what everyone, including myself, believed,' sighed Dumbledore. 'How wrong we were.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore as he picked up Hermione's wand and conjured a sheet of parchment and a letter knife.

'You shall no doubt recall from Professor Slughorn's memory,' Dumbledore continued, 'that to create a Horcrux, a wizard commits a murder, then tears his soul in two.'

Harry nodded as Dumbledore folded the parchment and then cut the fold with the knife, creating two equal pieces, each half the size of the original. He put one piece aside, but still held the second between himself and Harry.

'Now, when a wizard commits a murder, that act alone will not split his soul, it will only weaken it, like a crease.' He folded the parchment a second time. 'It is only when the wizard purposely grasps his soul to make a Horcrux, that half of it tears away.' He again dragged the knife through the crease and put one of the pieces aside.

'Each time he removes half of his remaining soul,' Dumbledore continued to fold and tear the remaining parchment, putting half aside, 'he diminishes _himself_ as well, making himself less human and more like a creature with no soul. This is evident when examining Lord Voldemort's increasingly less-than-human appearance over the years. The extremely handsome young man whom you met in the diary changed until he became the grotesque creature you witnessed rising from the cauldron the night Cedric Diggory died. The creature you saw that night is what Voldemort looked like when he entered your parents' house sixteen years ago.

'With the tiniest fragment of his soul still intact.' Dumbledore held up a very small piece of parchment.

Harry glanced across to the discarded pile and saw that there were five steadily decreasing pieces.

'It is true,' continued Dumbledore, 'that your mother's sacrifice protected you from the Killing Curse, but the curse did not then rebound back upon your attacker. What stopped Lord Voldemort that night was his own greed. By tearing his soul in two for a sixth time,' Dumbledore demonstrated with the tiny scrap in his hands, 'he reduced himself too far. His sixth Horcrux was the straw which broke the hippogriff's back.'

Harry stared at the miniscule fragment of parchment remaining. It was barely larger than his thumb.

So was this it? Was this the secret of how he, a small baby, had beaten the greatest Dark wizard in the world? By tempting Voldemort to tear his soul one time too many?

'But Voldemort didn't create the Horcrux,' said Harry. 'He tried, but his wand was trapped between our foreheads and he couldn't get past that point – my mum's protection stopped him. Then I couldn't feel magic anymore, or anything. Because _I_ wasn't anything. Just pain. And the last thing I thought was how did this tiny baby, which was too weak to accept my soul, manage to reduce me to a soulless nothing?'

He looked up and was surprised to see Dumbledore sitting opposite him. The memory had been so vivid, he had thought he was in Godric's Hollow, not London.

'_You_ were reduced to a soulless nothing?' Dumbledore's eyes seemed to penetrate to the heart of Harry's own soul as he tried to stammer an explanation. 'It's all right, Harry.' Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him. 'I fully understand the connection you have with Lord Voldemort, and such an identity crisis is not unexpected. But rest easy,' he added as Harry's eyes widened fearfully, 'Lord Voldemort has not likewise been sharing our confidences. I have protected against that.' He waved his hand at the shimmering veil surrounding them.

'And despite Voldemort's memories, I am afraid that he _did_ succeed in creating that Horcrux. Had he not, he wouldn't have been reduced that final step, you would not have that scar on your forehead and the two of you would not share a connection.

'As I told you after you rescued Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort transferred part of himself to you the first time he attacked you, although I thought it had been unintentional. I now know that he had very much intended to transfer part of his soul to your _dead_ self but, because he did not succeed in killing you, he made the mistake of believing he was also unsuccessful in creating the Horcrux.

'_That_ is why you speak Parseltongue and feel when Voldemort is close and witness what he does. Because he _marked you as his equal_, more equal to him than any other being in the world.'

Harry felt the colour drain from his face.

'Which means,' Dumbledore continued, 'that my interpretation of the last lines of Sybill's prophecy was also not entirely accurate.'

'That I have to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him?' Harry's mouth felt very dry.

Dumbledore nodded.

'But … how?' Harry shook his head in confusion. 'How do I kill Voldemort if I'm still alive? I mean, the sixth Horcrux will still exist, so Voldemort won't be able to die. But if he kills me, then how will he die at _my_ hands, because I'll be dead; I won't be able to kill him. But –'

'Stop, Harry.' Dumbledore's eyes glistened, 'before you give yourself a headache.' He closed his eyes, causing a single tear to escape from beneath his lashes and make its way slowly down the withered cheek.

Harry stared at the ancient face before him. He had not been afraid to die in his fight against Voldemort, and was still prepared to do so, but would it do any good? Would his death merely be added to the countless others whose deaths had brought the world no closer to a release from evil?

Numb with shock, his voice was little more than a whisper. 'Is there any way to destroy the sixth Horcrux without destroying me?'

The look in Dumbledore's eyes as he opened them and gazed at Harry said it all. Silence stretched between them for several minutes.

'Then how am I the Chosen One?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Because, as the Prophecy states, you are "the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord." What you need to discover is how exactly you are to use that power.'

And with a shaking hand, he picked up Harry's wand. Holding it so that it pointed straight up, he tapped the end of it once upon the table. As the kitchen came clearly into view, the silence was broken by what sounded like a record of a bell being played backwards, seven times over.

_x_

Harry spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to see some way around the prophecy's outcome, but failed; finally collapsing into an exhausted sleep just before dawn, his mind a confusion of tangled scenarios.

So he wasn't in a very Christmassy mood when he was woken by Snape.

'What time is it?' he snapped.

'Six thirty.' Snape seemed to find it very amusing.

Harry groaned and pulled the blankets back up over his head. 'Go away. I only got to sleep an hour ago.'

'I know.'

The blankets disappeared, causing Harry to curl up in a tight ball against the cold.

'Now _get up!_' Snape grabbed Harry around the shoulders and pulled him, struggling, into a sitting position. 'The headmaster wishes to see you in the drawing room – something about joyous greetings or some such sentiment – then you need to depart for the Weasley residence.'

A silver goblet filled with a substance with closely resembled tar and smelt worse than a sewer was thrust under Harry's nose. 'Drink!' ordered Snape, his dark eyes glittering maliciously.

'What is it?' Harry forced his eyes open enough to stare suspiciously at the drink.

'Nothing deadly.' Snape sounded disappointed. 'A little cocktail of my own brewing. It will make you alert – well, alert enough to prevent your … _friends_' the lip curled, 'being suspicious that you were doing anything other than sleeping peacefully at Hogwarts last night. Now drink!' He pressed the cup to Harry's lips, forcing him to swallow the disgusting liquid. Despite it tasting as bad as it smelt, the promised effect was almost instantaneous; Harry felt suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. How long the potion would last, he didn't know, but Snape could have made a fortune selling it to OWL and NEWT students.

Suddenly aware that he was wearing only pyjamas, he growled, 'Would you mind leaving while I get dressed?'

Throwing him a last glare, Snape stalked from the room.

When Harry entered the drawing room, the first thing he noticed was an enormous tree obscuring most of the tapestry. Numerous intricately patterned stars hung from its branches, as though someone had magnified snowflakes (which was probably the case). Two wrapped presents rested at its foot. And perched on top of the tree, singing more sweetly than any angel, Fawkes blinked down at him.

Harry's heart swelled. If this was to be his last Christmas, then it was promising to be his best ever.

Turning, he blinked moist eyes at Dumbledore, who smiled back at him from the sofa in front of the window, Snape standing guard at his shoulder.

'Fawkes does tend to have that effect on people.' He beckoned for Harry to join them. 'Merry Christmas, Harry.' He reached up and squeezed Harry's hand.

Dumping his presents on the sofa, Harry leant down and embraced Dumbledore. He had never, as a small boy, had the chance to give a loving grandfather a big hug on Christmas Day; as Dumbledore was the closest thing he would probably ever have, Harry was certain he wouldn't mind him playing catch up. As he released his hold, he saw that Dumbledore's eyes were also very misty.

Blinking rapidly, Dumbledore said, 'I suggest we exchange gifts and send you packing, Harry, before we are all swallowed up by spontaneous sentiment. If you would please be so kind as to do the honours, Severus?'

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously for a brief second before he strode silently to the far end of the room to retrieve the presents. Harry tossed a cushion from the sofa onto the floor and settled himself at Dumbledore's feet, pulling his presents down into his lap. Snape cast him an uncertain glance as he returned.

'Would you like to go first, Harry?' Dumbledore's moustache twitched at Snape's expression.

Without further ado, Harry handed the smaller of his packages up to Snape, whose expression closed as he looked at it.

As Dumbledore accepted his own present, he commented, 'The purpose of the wrapping, Severus, is to be removed, thereby revealing the gift inside. Why thank you, Harry.' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly as he unwrapped several pairs of thick woollen socks and a bag of sherbet lemons. 'This is probably the most thoughtful Christmas present anyone has ever given me.'

Next to the sofa, Snape eyed Harry warily as he slowly unwrapped his present, revealing – a book.

'That makes a pleasant change,' said Dumbledore, peering closely at the copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. 'I'm the one who usually gets the books.'

Snape flicked through the pages, his expression closing even more as he read his own handwriting littered over every page. His eyes darted to Harry's.

'I understand Professor Slughorn gave your old copy away by accident. I thought you might like this one.' Harry held his breath, hoping Dumbledore wouldn't be too suspicious of the charged tension suddenly sparking the air.

Perhaps also very aware of Dumbledore's curious glance, Snape's lips moved fractionally. 'Thank you, Potter; that was … thoughtful.' Harry wondered what it had cost Snape to say that.

'And now, Harry' Dumbledore broke the tension, still eyeing them curiously, 'it is time for _your_ gifts.' He handed Harry one of the presents which had been lying beneath the tree. The card read, 'From your "oldest" friend. And Fawkes.' Unwrapping it, Harry saw that Dumbledore had given him a bottle filled with sparkling pearly liquid, and five long golden feathers. He was pretty sure the liquid was phoenix tears. There was also a folded piece of parchment which gave directions on how to use the tail feathers.

Looking up, Harry met Dumbledore's gaze. 'Thank you, sir. Very much.'

'I'm certain you'll put them to good use.' Dumbledore glanced up, expectantly, at Snape.

Aware that he couldn't postpone the moment any longer, Snape passed Harry a heavy parcel wrapped simply in brown paper. The card was also quite plain, with only two words: 'For luck.' Snape's face gave nothing away, but Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over the half-moon glasses.

Already surprised that Snape had given him a present, Harry was astounded when he tore away the paper and discovered a large bottle of Felix Felicis. Considering what he had still yet to face in his battle with Voldemort, he was going to need all the luck he could get, so for Snape to brew him a whole flask …

He blinked up at Snape, completely at a loss for words. He fully expected to find Snape sneering at him, but instead, the Potions master looked extremely embarrassed.

'I believe, Severus,' said Dumbledore conversationally, 'that that means "thank you".' He chuckled as Snape stiffened.

'And now, Harry, we shall have a Christmas toast and then get you dispatched before Severus is swallowed up by "spontaneous sentiment".' The moustache twitched as he inclined his head at Snape, who threw him a look which would have frozen Hell, before stiffly fetching a bottle of mead from the sideboard.

After they each held a full goblet, Dumbledore said, 'We are all thinking it, so I shall say it. This may well be the last Christmas any of us sees, so I shan't toast a future which may not exist. Instead, here is to memory. May all the joys of Christmas, past and present, beat in our hearts until our hearts no longer continue to beat.'

As Harry drank the warm honey liqueur, he reflected that it was probably the strangest toast he had ever heard.

_x_

'So you got away all right, dear?'

Mrs Weasley bustled about, removing Harry's cloak. 'No problems?'

'No, Mrs Weasley.' Harry suppressed a grimace as she pressed a kiss against his cheek. By the sink, he saw Fred and George grinning evilly and threw them a don't-you-dare look over their mother's shoulder.

'What's the matter, Harry?' George's grin widened as Mrs Weasley disappeared through to the living room to rustle up more help with dinner. 'Don't you enjoy maternal affection?'

'Poor orphan Harry.' Fred turned from the potatoes he was conducting with his wand, skins hanging off them as they peeled themselves. 'Never truly known a mother's love, but don't worry, our mum's got plenty to go around.' Both twins burst out laughing as Harry threw them another dirty look and stalked from the room.

When he returned five minutes later, having dumped his stuff in Ron's room, half the family had been sidelined from other pleasures so that the kitchen was suddenly bustling with noise, movement and smells. Harry's stomach rumbled as he made a beeline for Ron top'n'tailing beans at the far end of the table. As he sat down, Mrs Weasley looked up from stirring something on the stove.

'Ginny, can you check the recipe for that sauce in _Witch Weekly_? How many eggs does it say?'

Ginny fetched the magazine in question from the dresser, flicking through its pages until she got to the cookery section. 'Um … eight.'

As Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at the pantry and the required eggs soared towards her, Ginny kept flicking through the _Weekly_, checking out the stories which seemed to be essential to the daily survival of so many witches.

'Oh, who does she think she's kidding?'

Harry glanced up, frowning. 'Who?'

'Rita Skeeter,' Ginny said, rolling her eyes. In the background, Harry saw Mrs Weasley's mouth tighten into a very firm line; she had not thought much of Rita Skeeter since Harry had been in the Triwizard tournament. If Rita was up to her old tricks, Hermione would certainly have something to say about it. She was the one who had realised how the disgraced writer was getting all her juicy gossip and had threatened the former reporter with exposure if she didn't learn to keep her quill to herself. The only article she had written in two years had been an interview with Harry about the night Voldemort had come back.

'What's she up to now?' asked Ron.

'She reckons Death Eaters kidnapped her and dragged her off to You-Know-Who.'

Fred looked up from the potatoes. 'Why?'

'According to this,' Ginny held the magazine up, 'he wanted to check out her memory, of all things.'

'What's so great about _her_ memory?' George had stopped in the middle of conducting the potatoes into slices. Ginny shrugged.

'And what happened?' Fred wanted to know.

'Noting. She escaped.'

'_What?_' The twins abandoned the half-finished spuds and went to stand behind their sister, looking over her shoulder at the article about Rita Skeeter's miraculous escape from He Who Must Not Be Named.

'Come off it,' George stared at the page, 'there's no way she'd be able to get her wand around all that lot?'

'What?' asked Ron, beans hanging in midair, forgotten.

'She's listed all the spells she reckoned she used against You-Know-Who to get away from him. Even Aurors wouldn't know half that stuff. You'd better watch out, mate,' Fred looked across at Harry, 'if she keeps this up, she'll nick your title of Bravest Person To Face You-Know-Who And Live To Tell The Tale.'

Harry made sure Mrs Weasley had her back to him as he poked his tongue out at Fred.

'So how _did_ she manage to get away?' Ginny frowned at the article.

'Probably tried to get an exclusive interview and You-Know-Who _chucked_ her out.'

Harry joined in the laughter which greeted George's comment but, unseen by the others, he and Ron exchanged a quick look. They had their own theory on how Rita Skeeter had wriggled her way out of Voldemort's grip. An illegal Animagus, she had been turning herself into a beetle for years to get in and out of places she shouldn't have been.

'When did all this happen, anyway?' Harry asked.

'Um,' Ginny checked the date on the magazine's cover. 'A couple of weeks ago.'

'And it wasn't all over the _Prophet_?'

'They probably wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot wand,' George said. 'I'm surprised she got _Witch Weekly_ to print it. They don't normally pay for tripe like that.'

'She probably paid them,' Ron muttered, prompting another round of laughter.

After everybody had gone back to their designated tasks, (Mrs Weasley hadn't been impressed that they'd taken time out to discuss someone as worthless as Rita), Ron looked across at Harry. 'How come you didn't get me a present?' he asked indignantly as Harry reached for a bean.

'I did,' Harry told him. 'It's upstairs. I want to be there so I can see your face when you open it.'

Ron immediately dropped a handful of beans and knocked over two chairs in his haste to get up to his room.

'You stay right where you are, young man, and finish those beans.' Mrs Weasley stood in his way, shaking a finger at him. 'Or there'll be no dinner for you.

'But, Mum …'

'But Mum, nothing, Ron Weasley.' Mrs Weasley's expression would have stopped the Hogwarts Express in its tracks. 'Beans,' she pointed towards the table, 'or _no_ _dinner_!'

Too afraid of his mother to even mutter under his breath, Ron picked up the fallen chairs and sat back down, pulling the bowl of unfinished beans towards him. It took a few minutes before he had calmed down enough to attempt any sort of conversation with Harry.

'So, how was McGonagall when you left this morning? Did she do her nut 'cause you wouldn't stay?' Ron glanced across at his mother, but she was still standing guard near the door.

'No.' Harry reached for another bean. 'She seemed to think I'd earned a reward after I got all those essays done.'

He wasn't sure why he was pretending he'd spent the night at Hogwarts rather than telling Ron he'd been in London. He was sure Ron would be able to handle the news about his scar, yet part of him felt contaminated somehow, unwilling to bring others in on the secret in case they got infected, too.

'Are you sure your journey was all right, dear?' Mrs Weasley swept past, balancing a pot of boiled pumpkin on the end of her wand. 'You look awfully pale.'

'He's fine, Mum.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'What?' He glared at Ginny, who was staring at Harry.

'Mum's right,' she said as she started laying the table. 'He is pale.'

Determined to steer the conversation into safer waters, Harry asked, 'So what did you get for Christmas, Ron?'

Ron launched into a full description of his presents ('I couldn't believe it! Mum knitted me a jumper which _wasn't_ maroon.'), interrupted several times as first Bill and Fleur, then Remus and Tonks (whose hair was a vibrant shade of red for the occasion), arrived.

Much to Ron's disgust, he wasn't able to sneak up to his room before dinner, so his present lay untouched. He tried several times to get Harry to just tell him what it was, but Harry was determined not to spoil the surprise. Ron's only hope seemed to be in helping his mother get dinner on the table as quickly as possible, making the end of said dinner arrive that much sooner.

Harry felt it was rather fortunate that he adopted this approach because his stomach was rumbling quite loudly (the only thing he'd had since he left Hogwarts yesterday was Snape's Wake-Up potion), and it wasn't too much longer before loaded dishes and platters were soaring into position on the table, chairs were being scraped back across the floor and everyone was settling down to yet another of Mrs Weasley's fine Christmas dinners.

A few times, Harry noticed both Bill and Mr Weasley glance almost anxiously towards the yard, but neither Percy nor Scrimgeour appeared in the distance and the tension finally started to relax from their shoulders.

Halfway through dinner, Tonks was in the middle of explaining to Harry the principles of fighting off the Cruciatus curse when an odd sound at the far end of the table drew their attention. Fleur had gone quite pale and had one hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Bill jumped to her aid, helping her to her feet then, without explanation, she rushed from the room.

'Gee, Mum,' Ron grinned feebly. 'I didn't think your cooking was _that_ bad.' Nobody laughed at the joke.

'I hope she's all right.' Mrs Weasley was staring in the direction of the bathroom.

'If she keeps this up, she'll be skin and bone.' Bill was still on his feet; he looked like he wasn't sure if he shouldn't perhaps follow her. 'This is the fifth time this week.'

'The fifth time?' Mrs Weasley's head shot around. Harry was surprised to see an excited look on her face. He knew she had spent the best part of a year fighting against Bill and Fleur's engagement, but he thought she had finally realised they were made for each other when Bill had been attacked; she had certainly seemed genuinely happy at their wedding. So why was she suddenly thrilled that Fleur was sick?

'Molly,' sighed Mr Weasley. 'Don't go counting chickens before they hatch.'

Harry glanced at Ron, confused. 'What chickens?'

Fred looked at Lupin. 'You _really_ need to talk to him.'

After dinner, Mrs Weasley rushed off to see Fleur settled comfortably in bed and Ron dragged Harry upstairs so he could finally open his present. Much to Harry's surprise, several presents were also piled on the end of his own bed.

'Mum must have done that before,' said Ron, munching on a jelly snake as he tore the wrapping from Harry's present. 'Wow, Harry!' he breathed, batting a hand at the snake as it tried to wrap itself around his neck.

Eyeing the snake warily, Harry rummaged amongst his parcels until he found one from Fred and George. Tearing the paper nervously, he got a pleasant surprise when a segmented box of gold chocolate snitches was revealed. Each compartment had its own lid, which was fortunate, as the snitches behaved just like the real thing when released. Luckily, Harry's reflexes were up to the task and he leaned back against the wall, rapture coursing through his body as the gold melted on his tongue before fluttering down his throat.

His other presents proved to be a mixed bag. Mr and Mrs Weasley had given him the usual jumper (emblazoned with a lightning bolt) as well as a Christmas cake decorated with a three-dimensional village with moving fondant people, Hermione, a large crate of Honeydukes chocolate in case he ran into any Dementors, and Ron had given him a bottle of Firewhisky. Uncorking the bottle, Harry took a sip.

For a moment, he felt nothing; then, suddenly, he was gasping for air as someone threw a match onto the middle of his tongue. Flames rushed down his throat, burning fibres he hadn't realised existed, then settled in the base of his stomach, exploding at random like sunspots, sending hot gusts of air shooting back up his gullet. When Harry tried to suck in cool air, he was surprised he didn't breathe fire.

Ron tore himself away from his examination of the Quidditch model long enough to gaze across at him, a stupid grin on his face. 'Welcome to manhood.'

'I thought these sorts of drinks were supposed to put hairs on your chest,' sputtered Harry. 'I think that stuff just burnt them off!'

Ron collapsed back on his bed, laughing and clutching his side.

'You think it's so funny, you have some!' Harry thrust the bottle at Ron indignantly.

'No way,' Ron had tears running down his cheeks. 'Fred and George force-fed me a whole bottle of that stuff last summer. That was enough to last me a lifetime.'

Desperate for some coolness, Harry jumped up and flung the window open. As he reached out to break an icicle off the edge of the roof (sucking ice should surely help), he noticed Lupin and Tonks wandering hand-in-hand through the garden below. They glanced up at the sound of the icicle snapping, waving and calling for him to come down and join them.

'Where are you going?' Ron struggled to sit up; the snake seemed to have tightened its grip.

'Outside to see Remus. Want to come?'

'You're the one who needs talking to.' Ron tugged impatiently at the snake, stretched its tail to reach his mouth and bit hard. The snake immediately loosened its grip.

Harry caught up with Lupin in the orchard. Tonks was a couple of rows away, absently picking frozen berries off a bush and crunching them in her teeth, but she kept tossing sly glances their way.

'So, what was this really important thing everyone reckons you want to say to me?' Harry didn't like the way Lupin was looking at him; it was a mixture of seriousness, nervousness and pride.

'I was wondering if you would do me a favour.'

'Sure, anything.'

Lupin glanced across at Tonks, who grinned wider. Looking back at Harry, he took a deep breath.

'Would do me the honour of being my best man?'

It took Harry a moment to realise what Lupin had said. He gaped at Lupin, then across at Tonks, then back at Lupin.

'You two?'

Lupin nodded.

Harry still gaped. 'The two of you? You and Tonks?'

Tonks had abandoned her berry picking and now leant against Lupin's shoulder, her arms wrapped around him. 'So is that a yes?'

'Yes?' Harry stared at them. 'Yes. Yes, it's a yes. Most definitely! When?'

'Monday.' Lupin pulled Tonks back against himself and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Harry blinked. 'What? Monday? This Monday?'

Two nods.

'Isn't that a bit fast?'

Lupin shrugged. 'We're not showy people, nor are we into gushy romance.'

'Just a quick, simple, quiet ceremony,' Tonks explained. 'Nothing fancy. We still come out married on the other side and nowhere near as much expense.'

'And Mrs Weasley's OK with that?'

'Molly doesn't know.' Tonks didn't say that nearly as guiltily as Harry thought she should have. 'The only person who knows is you. I'll tell Hermione when she arrives this evening, and that'll be our two witnesses.'

Harry frowned at both of them, his excitement rapidly evaporating. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing. We're just not letting the whole world know.'

'Why?' Harry wasn't happy with Lupin's explanation. 'Is it because of Voldemort?'

'Not really.' Lupin was still being evasive.

'Then what?'

'I'm an Auror, Harry.' Tonks pulled Remus's arms more tightly around herself.

'And I'm a werewolf.'

Harry gazed at the pair of them, sadness welling up in his chest. 'But it's so unfair!'

'It doesn't matter, Harry.' Tonks gave a small smile. 'We would still be married, happy together. The Ministry can go jump. If they want to be a bunch of snobs and miss out on all the fun, then that's their loss. We'll still be married.'

'So, are you still with us?' Lupin looked like he was holding his breath.

'Wild Thestrals couldn't keep me away,' Harry grinned. 'Just promise me one thing.'

They both gazed at him expectantly.

'Don't use Firewhisky for the toast.'

_x_

'Oh, Harry, isn't it _wonderful_?' Hermione was positively glowing.

'Shhh, keep it down. The others will hear,' hissed Harry. He and Hermione were hiding in Ginny's bedroom, talking about the exciting development.

'No, they won't.' Hermione dismissed his concerns. 'Ron's mum is too busy warbling away to that singer she likes. Mr Weasley and Bill are talking politics with Professor Lupin. Fleur's throwing up again, Fred, George and Ginny are busy getting ready for tomorrow and Ron's in his room drooling over that game you gave him.'

Despite having the perfect opportunity to see how Gryffindor's next match would go, Ron had wasted no time setting Harry's present up so that they were playing against Bulgaria. He had then spent the next few hours making it very difficult for Viktor Krum to stay on his broom, or even just follow the game, as Bludger after Bludger (not all of them hit by the twins) smashed him hard in the face, though Harry noticed that several Bulgarian Bludgers managed to unseat Fred and George as well.

'Another wedding,' Hermione was still overflowing with happiness. 'Who'd have thought, two in one year. Oh, what am I going to wear?' She suddenly jumped up and began rummaging through her things, tossing rejected items over her shoulder until Harry was buried under a pile of fabric.

'Nothing!' Hermione sat back on her heels, a very dejected look on her face. 'Oh, this just won't do. I have to have _something_ special to wear.'

'Why does it have to be special?' Harry fought his way up through the jumble of clothes. 'I thought Remus and Tonks wanted to keep it simple.'

'They only want to keep it _secret_ from everybody. That doesn't mean we still can't dress up. Oh, how am I going to do this? What to wear, what to wear … we need to go shopping.'

Harry felt like a Bludger had hit him. 'What do you mean _we_? Why can't I wear what I wore to Bill's wedding? It's still new, I've only worn it once.'

'Oh, Harry,' said Hermione exasperatedly. 'Those are wizard's robes. You can't go wearing them at a Muggle wedding.'

Harry thought about it. 'No, I suppose not. So, how are we going to do this? I might be filthy rich but it's all in wizarding money; I can't exactly go waltzing up to a Muggle shopkeeper and try to pay them with a fistful of Galleons.'

'Point.' Hermione frowned, pondering their dilemma. 'This is going to take some considering. Let me sleep on it, I'll come up with something,' she said, confident that she would be able to solve the problem.

When Harry went to bed that night, there was a surprise waiting for him. Turning back the blankets, he found three small glass phials, labelled, corked and sealed, lying in the middle of the sheets. The accompanying card said 'I thought you might like some new memories to add to your collection. Merry Christmas, Remus.'

Picking up the phials, Harry read the labels … and almost dropped them in astonishment. Lupin had given him his memories of James and Lily's wedding, their reception and Harry's christening. 'Wow, Remus,' whispered Harry as his eyes misted. He was still trying to blink back tears when Ron returned from the bathroom. Harry hastily shoved the phials into his jeans pocket.

'What's wrong with you?' Ron stared suspiciously at his friend's moist eyes.

'Er … I had another sip of the Firewhisky,' Harry said the first thing which came into his head. 'I thought it might improve with each try but it doesn't.'

'I could have told you that,' laughed Ron. 'I've had a lot more than just a couple of sips, you know.' Still laughing, he flopped down onto his own bed and began directing his game.

Changing into his pyjamas, Harry climbed into bed, grateful that Ron had believed his lie so quickly and thinking that his friend should be glad, in his turn, that Hermione wasn't around to hear Krum's nose break yet again.

The next day, a Friday, Hermione managed to get Mrs Weasley to OK her going into London with Harry to shop for some dark creatures to use in class, Tonks and Remus offering to accompany them for both security and advice. Ginny had gotten herself a day's work helping Fred and George with their Boxing Day sale, so she was going to be busy with that, and Ron turned his nose up, declaring he had far more important things to do than spend the day fawning over Cornish pixies and Red Caps. (Subjecting Bulgaria to another embarrassing defeat was probably pretty high on his priority list.) Bill said he needed to get something for Fleur's nausea from the Apothecary's in Diagon Alley and joined them in Flooing to the twins' shop.

'OK, what's going on?' Bill rounded on them almost as soon as they left Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes.

'What do you mean?' Tonks was a picture of innocence.

'You four have been practically dancing on air since yesterday afternoon and you spent all last night avoiding looking at each other, like you were afraid you'd give something away if you did.'

They promptly confirmed his suspicions by exchanging guilty glances.

Tonks whispered something in Remus's ear, who nodded and said, 'Well, he does work in a bank.'

Bill was suitably enthusiastic in his congratulations on hearing the news, clapping Lupin on the back and giving Tonks a big kiss and hug. He wholeheartedly supported them in their decision to keep the matter secret, especially from his mother, and even recommended a reliable _cheap_ jeweller in Muggle London. Then, when Harry mentioned that he wasn't sure how he was going to pay for Muggle clothes with wizard money, Bill surprised them further.

'A credit card? How did you manage to get one of those?' Hermione's jaw dropped as she stared at the plastic card in Bill's hand.

'It's not a credit card,' Bill explained. 'It's a Gredit card.'

'_Gredit?_'

Bill grinned at Harry and Hermione's confused faces. 'It's only available to Gringotts employees. Do you two know how to use E.F.T?'

Luckily Hermione nodded, because Harry had no idea what Bill was talking about, the Dursleys having always been reluctant to take him anywhere, let alone shopping.

'Good.' Bill handed the card to her. 'Press this against the security clips and barcodes on the things you want to buy, then scan the card through the shop's electronic banking terminal – the number is double two, six, five – then press OK. The purchases will go through their system next time they do business, dated then, not now.'

'And the transaction will be in pounds, not Galleons?' asked Hermione.

Bill nodded. 'All of the major credit card companies around the world have a Gringotts employee working in their head office. They process all payments drawn against these cards and bill the cardholder's account each month. The bank does the conversion.'

'And you're the card holder?'

Bill nodded again.

'But …' Harry looked at Bill, forlorn. '_I _wanted to pay for the stuff we're going to buy. I was going to let it be my wedding present to you two.' He gazed around at Lupin and Tonks.

'No problem,' said Bill cheerily. 'I'll transfer the money from your vault to the card's account when the bill arrives. So,' he turned towards the apothecary's, 'happy shopping.'

'That certainly simplifies things.' Remus gazed at the card with interest.

'I hope you understood all that, Hermione,' sighed Tonks. 'It was total gibberish to me.'

Hermione grinned.

Once they were through to Muggle London, Hermione confused Harry further. 'Aren't we going to Harrods?' he asked as they stopped in front of a designer boutique in Knightsbridge.

'No.' Hermione didn't look at all concerned by their destination. 'Harrods is open.'

'Yeah, and this place isn't.'

'Exactly.'

Harry glanced around at Remus and Tonks. 'Did I miss something?'

'It's all right, Harry,' said Lupin. 'We want to be here. If we have to be subjected to you spending inexcusable amounts of money on us, I suppose this is as good a place as any to endure it.' He heaved a very theatrical sigh, making the others laugh.

'Well, at least you're finally learning how to accept things from people,' Harry grinned. 'Now, can someone please tell me what we're doing here?'

'Shopping, of course.' Tonks had her face pressed against the window.

'At a closed shop?'

'You'll see, Harry.' Lupin joined his fiancée in staring at the dark interior of the shop. 'I've got four. Is that all?'

'Huh?'

'Yeah … no, five. There's one behind the mirror in the changing room,' Tonks said.

Lupin stared at her. 'The mirror?'

'Mmm. Blind sensor.'

'Thank Godric for that.' Lupin sounded relieved. He took a quick glance around and removed his wand, then tapped the window five times, making it glow, the light expanding outwards like ripples from an epicenter.

'After you, Harry.' Tonks placed her hand in the centre of his back and firmly pushed him straight at the window. Harry raised his hands and closed his eyes reflexively but he never banged into the glass. Opening his eyes, he discovered that Tonks had pushed him _through_ the window.

Once the others had joined him, Hermione and Tonks immediately descended upon the women's section and began 'oohing' and 'aahing' over the outfits there.

'Just remember, we don't have all day,' Lupin called, as he led Harry to where several men's suits were hanging on a rack.

'It's been so long since I've worn anything new that I can't tell what's good and what's not; it all looks so strange.' Remus frowned at his reflection. 'What do you think?'

'It makes you look, I dunno, too pale. Try a lighter one.'

Three suits later, Harry was finally satisfied with his teacher's appearance. Choosing a slightly darker suit in the same colour, Harry added it to their purchases and joined Remus at the tie rack.

'I suppose we really should match them to Hermione's dress,' said Harry, remembering that Charlie had had gold touches on his robes to match the bridesmaids' dresses. 'Did you notice what colour she got?'

'Blue, I think.' Lupin wandered over to where Tonks and Hermione were trying on hats. He said a few words and then returned, carrying a medium blue jacket.

By the time they were finished, they had two grey business suits, complete with shirts, ties and socks and two cocktail-length dresses and jackets, one in blue, the other, cream. There were also two pillbox hats to match the girls' dresses, with small veils which came done over their eyes.

'Just one thing more.' Hermione held them up a few more minutes while she rummaged amongst a pile of silk handkerchiefs.

'What are those for?' Harry asked as she pulled out two to match their ties.

'You'll see,' she grinned.

Tonks watched in confusion as Hermione followed Bill's instructions. Pressing the Gredit card against the security clips released the catches (Harry tossed them into a container under the counter) and when the magnetic strip touched the barcodes, the cost of each item glowed in gold numbers on the front of the card, which was fortunate because none of the articles had prices displayed anywhere. It seemed to be the sort of establishment where the price was available only upon request. Either that, or their clients were so wealthy, price was of no consequence. Glancing at the figures on Bill's card, Harry was inclined to lean towards the latter.

The total displayed on the till's computer screen (even though it was turned off) had Lupin protesting about the amount which Harry was spending on them. Even Harry had gotten a shock at just how much the shop was demanding for the privilege of wearing garments with its name stitched on the label and, even though he didn't know the conversion rate to Galleons, he was pretty certain it would make a sizeable dent in his bank vault. Not that it mattered. Lupin was worth it, and Tonks was too.

They found suitable footwear at a shoe shop two streets away and then quickly grabbed a Grindylow from a very unsavoury-looking witch down at the far end of Knockturn Alley.

'That's to stop Molly doubting our story,' explained Lupin as they headed back to Fred and George's.

Monday afternoon, Harry locked himself in the twins' bedroom in order to get the next term's lesson plans drawn up. Hermione said she would help as she wanted to see what teaching was like from behind the scenes, to see if she could handle it.

'I thought you were going to be an Auror like Harry and me,' cried Ron indignantly.

'I'm still not really sure what I want to do after I graduate,' said Hermione, as if Ron's concerns were of no consequence.

'But … if you don't get into the Ministry with us, how are we going to see each other? We'll be off putting creeps like Malfoy's mates in Azkaban and you'll be spending all day pandering to the needs of students like Loony Lovegood. "Oh, Miss Granger, it isn't Dermexem's lotion which stops your skin getting all wrinkled when you're old, it's Mufflepeck bogies."'

'What are you picking on Luna for?' Harry eyed his friend with distaste. 'She's one of the best students at Hogwarts. Out of all the people who were in the DA, only she and Neville helped us when we needed it.'

'OK, keep your hair on,' said Ron defensively. 'It's not like she's your girlfriend or anything.'

Once they were safely behind locked doors, Harry and Hermione used two of Dumbledore's phoenix feathers to transport themselves to behind the Hog's Head inn in Hogsmeade. It was probably the best form of wizarding transport Harry had encountered. No spinning colours, no squeezing through rubber tubes, no mouthful of ash. Fred and George's bedroom just dissolved around them and reappeared as the alley behind the Hog's Head.

'How did you two get here?' Tonks, whose hair, Harry noticed, was swept back in blonde layers, was frowning at them uncertainly.

'Why?'

'You're smoking.'

'Er …' Harry glanced down at his clothes. 'Hermione was showing me how that charm she did on my cousin worked.'

'And she did it on both of you?' Tonks still looked sceptical.

'I did it on myself,' Hermione said. 'Then, because Harry wouldn't believe it wasn't burning me, I did it on him to prove I wasn't lying.' She threw Harry a convincing scowl to portray her displeasure at his lack of faith.

Tonks was still watching the wisps of smoke drifting up from their bodies. 'And what exactly was the charm supposed to be for?'

Hermione promptly launched into a full description of the spells which had seen herself, Harry and Ron hauled before the Ministry. Tonks was clutching her side, struggling to breathe, by the time the story ended.

'We really should get going,' Remus pointed out, checking his watch. 'It's nearly one.'

'What time's the wedding?' Harry asked.

'One thirty, so we'll just have time to change.' He held up the garment bags he was carrying.

Apparating to a back street in Gretna Green, Lupin distributed the outfits to everybody and gave Harry the rings, two simple gold bands. He frowned, puzzled, when Hermione then handed him a bottle of pale flesh-coloured liquid. 'What's this?'

'Foundation,' she replied. 'For your face.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Hermione, don't. What's this thing you've got for blokes in makeup, anyway? First Bill, now Remus.'

'I just wanted to stop the Muggles asking awkward questions.'

Lupin smiled slightly as he handed the bottle back. 'Questions are only awkward if you don't have unawkward answers ready.'

'OK,' Hermione's eyes were full of challenge. 'What's your unawkward answer?'

'I was young, hadn't had my driver's licence very long, I'd been drinking, wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and crashed. Went straight through the windscreen.'

Even though Harry knew what Remus just said was totally fictitious, he still winced at the mental picture it conjured.

Ducking into a nearby pub to change (Hermione folded the silk handkerchiefs so that three points peeked above the tops of the men's jacket pockets), they then waited their turn in the foyer of a converted old blacksmith's shop where the ceremony was to take place. Harry frowned at the choice of venue, but Hermione explained that it was a local tradition going back at least two hundred years.

The wedding was totally different from Bill and Fleur's. Sure, Harry had known there wouldn't be any fanfare and glitter, but he hadn't quite expected that it would be so … cold. The celebrant, a bald, overweight man with a lisp, didn't even blink when he said Tonks's name, let alone have any difficulty pronouncing it as his toneless voice droned through the words he had recited countless times before. It was just another day at the office for him. Harry felt a little apprehensive when he signed his name under the heading 'Witnesses' – he needed to be eighteen to be an adult in the Muggle world – but he wasn't promptly struck down by lightning and the ceremony concluded without a hitch.

'You've got the same middle name as me.' Harry had been surprised to discover what the 'J' in R. J. Lupin stood for. Celebrating over a pint in one of Gretna Green's drinking establishments, they were discussing the ceremony before heading back down south.

'I know.' Remus had a bemused twinkle in his eye. Tonks's eyes, which hadn't left her husband, were also twinkling, but with pure, unadulterated love. 'But where you were named for your father, I was named after my uncle. Dad was out of town when Mum when into labour and Uncle James took her to St Mungo's. She and Dad felt it was the least they could do to thank him, giving me his name.'

Harry had known Remus's middle initial since the start of third-year but had never thought to ask what it stood for. Now he knew. He grinned. He was enjoying collecting these memories, proof that his parents' lives had been real, as yet another piece slotted into place.

Harry thought of the happiness he would one day get looking back on not just memories of his parents, but also the memories which he was creating now. The grin widened as he raised his glass in a final toast before they headed back to The Burrow.

'To two really great people, Mr and Mrs Remus Lupin.'


	15. Chapter 15: The Eagle

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER FIFTEEN –**

**The Eagle**

'There's a good one.'

'Where's a good one?'

'Yes, that will do very nicely.'

It was two days after Remus and Tonks's wedding. Hermione had arranged with Ron to cover for them at the Burrow using some of Harry's Polyjuice potion while she and Harry (dosed up with Felix Felicis) had snuck off to Hogsmeade. They were presently hiding in a small alley beside Zonko's, surveying the main street. Harry tried to see what Hermione was looking at but all he could see was a trio of old witches heading towards the Three Broomsticks.

'Wait here.'

Before Harry could stop her, Hermione had slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak, Crookshanks under her arm, and blended into the back of a young couple and three small children coming out of the Broomsticks. Just before she drew level with the witches, Hermione waved something under Crookshanks's nose, then surreptitiously tossed it at the suddenly-screaming poor old dears as the cat dived into the middle of them, followed closely by Hermione. It was one of the best tackles Harry had ever seen.

As Hermione got up off the two witches she had knocked down, struggling to hold a spitting Crookshanks, Harry noticed her slip something into her pocket before the family blocked his view as they crowded around the spectacle.

Half an hour later, Harry found himself outside the Shrieking Shack, holding Crookshanks and waiting for Hermione to join him. After scurrying back up the street, dodging curses, Hermione had handed Harry Crookshanks and gone 'shopping.'

He was about to head back down to Hogsmeade when he saw one of the women Hermione had flattened walking up the hill towards him. Swearing, he struggled to pull the Cloak over him as Crookshanks tried to jump out of his arms, yowling loudly enough to wake the dead.

'It's all right, Harry.' The old woman was running up the hill faster than her years should have allowed. 'It's me, Hermione.'

Harry dropped Crookshanks in shock, allowing him to streak down the hill and into the hag's arms.

And she really did look like an old hag.

The witch from the Broomsticks had grey hair smoothed neatly back into a bun (at least she did before Hermione attacked her), but now her hair was frizzled and slightly burnt-looking. Her clothes were different too – it looked like she had relieved an Oxfam shop of all the clothes even the poor didn't want. And she reeked of something really unpleasant.

'You nicked some hairs off that old lady you attacked, didn't you?'

'I didn't attack her. Crookshanks did.' Hermione scooped up some mud and began rubbing it into her frayed shawl. 'And that witch was no lady. Some of those curses she threw at me were downright nasty!'

'Remind me why we're doing this?

'So you can get that eagle from Borgin and Burkes.'

'But we don't even know if it _is_ a Horcrux.' Harry argued.

'But this is the only way we can find out.'

'But why come _here_?'

'Because there's no chance that woman is likely to turn up at Borgin and Burke's while we're there; her friends will be too busy calming her down in the Three Broomsticks. Now, come on!' she said, tossing the Invisibility Cloak over Harry.

Following Hermione along Knockturn Alley wasn't Harry's idea of an afternoon stroll. The easiest way to avoid bumping someone was usually to hug the walls, but the walls in this street seemed to be heavily populated by some of the most unsavoury beings Harry had ever set eyes on. And he felt awfully exposed. The way some of the eyes followed him, he was certain they could see through the Cloak.

When they reached Borgin and Burkes, Harry muttered, 'Good luck' to Hermione.

'Of course,' she grinned back (Harry noticed several teeth missing), and pushed the door to the shop open, giving Harry a slight shove so he entered before her.

_Nice touch, Hermione,_ Harry silently encouraged as she made a show of checking to see if anyone outside had noticed her. Harry moved carefully through the shop, positioned himself in front of the fireplace, and waited.

Hermione had her nose pressed against the glass-fronted case which had held Malfoy's Hand of Glory. The pack of cards was also gone, replaced by two hands joined at the wrist and looking like they were going to strangle something.

'We do not allow animals in this shop, Madam.'

Harry almost jumped out of his Cloak. Borgin had suddenly appeared at Hermione's shoulder, gazing distastefully at Crookshanks.

'But I couldn't leave Beelzebub at home.' Hermione's voice rasped like an old crone's. 'He's been cooped up for so long. He needed the fresh air. We haven't been out for some time; after all, it's not too wise to be seen coming and going too often these days, wouldn't you agree?' She fixed Borgin with a beady look.

'Indeed, madam.' Borgin eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and hope. Harry imagined that he was desperate for a sale, business having probably all but dried up due to the war, as well as the fact that Death Eaters had gained access to Hogwarts from this shop, but he would also be wary of a trap from the Ministry.

He glanced at the contents of the glass case. 'You were interested in the Hands of Garotte?'

'No.' Hermione shifted Crookshanks into a more comfortable position, dropping her handbag in the process. It clinked heavily as it hit the floor; Borgin stooped to retrieve it, weighing it in his hand as he did so. 'That eye. What can you tell me about it?'

'An excellent choice, Madam.' Borgin's voice oozed thickly with oil. 'The Far-Sighted Eye. Able to see…'

Harry knew Hermione would keep Borgin busy. He quickly began studying the high shelves around the shop. Finally, he spotted what he was after. The eagle was at the back of the shop, on the top shelf behind the counter, partly hidden behind … was that a shrivelled goblin head?

Harry glanced over at Hermione. Borgin had removed the eye from the cabinet and was demonstrating how it worked. Harry looked back up at the eagle. The easiest thing would be to levitate it down, but Felix was nudging him towards a ladder – similar to those used in libraries – at the end opposite the door leading to a back room. It didn't seem close enough to the eagle for him to be able to reach across without revealing his arm. Oh well, he would just have to trust to the promptings of Luck.

Very aware that Crookshanks's yellow eyes were following his every move, Harry carefully began to climb up to the top shelf as Borgin moved behind the counter from the other end.

Glancing down, Harry was startled to see Borgin carefully placing the eye into a box as Hermione fumbled in her bag, awkwardly trying not to drop either Crookshanks or the shopping bag holding her normal clothes.

As Borgin shuffled to the antique register at the far end of the counter, Harry knew he wouldn't get a better chance. Abandoning all caution, he reached his arm from under the Cloak and grasped the eagle. Several items on the shelves shook slightly. Harry saw Hermione look up and spot his arm. She glanced quickly at Borgin rummaging deep in the till for change, then threw Crookshanks over the counter.

'Beelzebub, no!' she cried, then screamed as the shelves seemed to explode.

Harry only just managed to get his arm back under the Cloak before Borgin turned at Hermione's cry, then he was struggling like crazy to both keep himself covered and hold onto the eagle, which was putting up a good fight trying to fly out of his arms.

Getting down off the ladder in any manner, let alone carefully, was out of the question, but he still hadn't started panicking. He was confident everything would turn out OK.

Borgin dived under the counter with more speed and agility than Harry would have expected for someone his age, pulled out his wand, and sliced it through the air three times. With the suddenness of a light bulb blowing, the pandemonium stopped.

Holding the now-inanimate eagle against his chest, Harry quietly descended the ladder, surveying the damage.

Borgin was leaning on the counter, trying to ignore Crookshanks clawing his leg, and glaring at Hermione with a look which would have stopped a Dementor. Most of the contents of the shelves behind the counter were strewn halfway up the shop, cluttering the floor or resting alongside the contents of shattered glass cases.

And Hermione was shrieking.

'_What kind of business are you trying to run here? Do you call this good service? Don't you trust your own customers, setting booby traps like that? Or is this how you make money? Kill the customers after they've paid, then steal their stuff back to sell it again! No wonder nobody wants to be seen shopping here anymore! I've got half a mind to report you to the Ministry, endangering lives…'_

All through Hermione's verbal onslaught, Harry had been slowly edging along the far wall, picking his way past the debris until he reached the front door. Looking back he saw Borgin storm around the counter and thrust Crookshanks, the box and several coins at Hermione before grabbing her by the collar and almost dragging her through the wreckage to the front of the shop. He snatched the door open with such force, the hinges rattled.

Hermione, however, didn't move. She stood a foot inside the doorway, stroking Crookshanks and crooning to him as she balanced her bag. Harry took the opportunity to squeeze past.

'It's all right, sweetums. Mummy won't let the mean old man hurt you again.' She threw Borgin a scathing look. 'And if _you_ had any decency, you'd apologise to him. He's always been highly-sensitive, and _this_ -,' she tossed her head towards the back of the shop, 'will make him most difficult to settle at night!'

Borgin returned her look. 'Madam, if you have any problems, I can easily provide you with a fast-acting poison, good for unruly pets _and_ owners!'

And he pushed Hermione the last couple of steps out to the street, slammed the door so that the glass shook, and swiftly turned the sign to _Closed_.

_x_

'Why on earth did you buy it?'

Harry and Hermione were sitting on the Underground as it sped from one station to the next. After regaining the relative safety of Diagon Alley, they had crossed from the Leaky Cauldron into Muggle London with seven minutes to spare, then ducked into the nearest public toilets so Hermione could wait out the effects of the Polyjuice Potion and Harry could pocket the Invisibility Cloak. Normal once more, they had laughed over Hermione's performance on their way to Charing Cross to catch the train to Grimmauld Place.

'I needed to give Mr Borgin a good reason to keep me in the shop, and it might be quite useful.' Hermione smiled mysteriously. 'Believe me, Harry; luck is very much on our side.'

Harry couldn't help but grin back at her. In fact, he was finding it very difficult not to laugh out loud. This was indeed turning out to be the luckiest day of his life. They had successfully gotten hold of Ron's gold eagle, and in less than half an hour they would know if it was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Harry didn't have any doubts though; Felix wouldn't have let them have such an easy time getting it if they weren't meant to.

As they approached number twelve, Grimmauld Place, however, Harry felt his confidence wane a little, almost as though the winter sun had slipped behind a cloud. He glanced around nervously but couldn't place just what had made him feel like that.

Hermione frowned slightly. 'What's wrong?'

'I'm not sure. I just had the feeling we were being followed.'

Hermione looked around as well. 'That potion shouldn't be wearing off yet, should it?'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe Snape made it wrong.'

Hermione didn't seem to think this likely. 'Could it be a Dementor?' Her eyes widened.

'Let's get inside.'

Harry hurried up the steps and pressed his hand against the front door. As soon as the clicks stopped, he pushed it open and pulled Hermione inside with him. He was about to shut the door when their luck ran out.

Hermione seemed to trip on the hall rug and fell, knocking Harry against the troll's leg umbrella stand; Crookshanks disappeared up the staircase, a yowling ginger streak, setting Mrs Black off; Hermione lay flat on her face, making odd, bucking movements. Harry stared at her, perplexed, as she muttered, 'Get off,' then he understood.

Reaching his hand towards her, he groped around until he felt what he was after, then pulled. An Invisibility Cloak slid towards him, revealing … Ginny.

Harry glanced up at the two men standing on the first floor landing.

'Oh dear,' murmured Professor Dumbledore.

Snape clapped his hands three times. 'Congratulations Potter. That would have to be the worst display of stealth I have ever witnessed. Or was it Granger's idea that you be followed.'

Harry glared up at Snape's sneering face, but before he could reply, Dumbledore raised his burnt hand.

'Before we sink deep into the realms of intellectual debate, might I suggest that we first close the front door, and then make ourselves comfortable?' He arched a silver brow.

Five minutes later, they were all seated in the drawing room watching Ginny in silence, even if that silence was so thick you could have cut it with Gryffindor's sword. Ginny stared at Dumbledore over the rim of her teacup (very sweet, lot's of sugar). She hadn't made a sound since entering the house and didn't seem predisposed to start anytime in the foreseeable future. Harry kept sneaking glances between Snape's thunderous expression and Dumbledore's concerned one. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

'It was not my intention that Miss Weasley be privy to our secret, but what is done is done. The question which remains to be answered is: what shall we do about it?'

Ginny's eyes widened fearfully. Harry was certain she thought her memory was going to be wiped. Dumbledore gave her a reassuring smile.

'Rest easy, Ginny; you are in no danger from either myself or Professor Snape. However, I would like to know how you came to have Alastor Moody's Invisibility Cloak without him noticing it was missing.'

'Just lucky, I guess,' she muttered evasively.

Snape's eyes flashed. 'Very careless, Potter; leaving highly potent potions lying around so small children can easily find them.'

Harry blinked. _Had _Ginny drunk some Felix Felicis? And if so, why?

'Of course Harry didn't leave it lying around.' Hermione jumped to his defence. 'He locked it in his trunk after we both had our doses. And Ginny's _not_ a small child.'

'You _both _drank it?' Snape's expression darkened. 'Both yourselves _and _Weasley?' His eyes darted to Ginny, who shrank deeper into her chair, nodding almost imperceptibly.

'Idiot girl!'

'_Severus!' _

Harry was surprised by the amount of strength Dumbledore exuded in that one word.

Snape stopped mid-swoop and turned a very black expression towards Dumbledore.

'Will you not interfere in matters which you do not understand, Headmaster?'

Hermione gasped; Harry felt his jaw drop. But if Dumbledore was in any was surprised, shocked or angry at Snape's defiance, he didn't show it.

'I apologise, Severus,' he said calmly, holding Snape's gaze. 'As you correctly stated, I do not understand Potions as well as you do. I do, however, feel responsible, in part, for the present circumstances. I should have foreseen that Miss Weasley's curiosity might get the better of her and guarded against it more securely.

'Now, is there anything which you can do to assist her compassionately?' He nodded towards Ginny, who had started to hum quietly. She was also licking her lips more often than Harry would have thought necessary, dribbling slightly each time her tongue darted out; he was reminded of Luna Lovegood.

'Nothing which wouldn't do her more harm,' said Snape dryly, pulling Ginny's bottom eyelids down with his thumb and narrowing his eyes as he inspected them. 'Basically, it just needs to run its course. She should return to … normal … around sunset.'

Harry and Hermione exchanged panicked looks.

'But we've got to be back at the Burrow before then,' Harry pointed out.

'Then you should have thought of that before bringing her here.' snapped Snape, tearing his attention away from his examination of Ginny and frowning up at them. 'Why are you here anyway?'

'We managed to get this.' Hermione reached into her shopping bag and removed the golden eagle.

Snape's expression froze. 'Where did you get that?' He looked like he had seen a ghost.

'Borgin and Burkes,' Hermione answered uncertainly. 'We weren't caught though, thanks to your Luck Potion.' She tried to flash a brave smile, but failed.

Dumbledore leaned forwards. 'May I?' he asked, and accepted the bird from Hermione. He spent several minutes turning it every which way, finally gazing, unblinking, into the sparkling sapphire eyes.

'Is it the Ravenclaw Horcrux, sir?' Harry broke the long silence.

Dumbledore peered over the half-moon glasses. 'That is the question, isn't it?' he sighed, carefully passing the statue to Snape, who withdrew his wand. 'Do you recognise it, Severus?'

Harry frowned. Why would Snape recognise it? If Dumbledore's theory was correct, the statue had been hidden in Borgin and Burke's since before Snape was born.

'I've never seen it before,' Snape barely murmured, his eyes devouring the glistening metal. 'Not even in a picture.'

'But you do recognise it,' Dumbledore pressed.

'Only from a description,' said Snape distractedly.

He touched his wand between its eyes, muttering in a singsong style similar to when he had repaired Malfoy after the _Sectumsempra_.

Harry watched, amazed, as the eagle began to glow faintly, then he suddenly found himself lying flat on his back in a pool of sticky liquid out on the landing. He tried to sit up, but was stopped by pain stabbing all through his back; so severe, his vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the contents of his stomach to stay down.

He moaned as a hand gripped his shoulder and slowly turned him onto his front (his stomach again threatened to rebel), then he felt a light floating sensation spread through his body. Opening his eyes fractionally, he saw a pair of worn shoes stepping backwards away from him, but not getting further away. Harry barely registered that Lupin had levitated him and was guiding him back into the drawing room, when everything spun again and went black.

'Come on Fawkes, just a little more.'

Harry opened his eyes and looked around. The first thing he noticed were the bodies.

He sat up suddenly as his heart froze. Both Dumbledore and Hermione were lying in the middle of the room, dead.

_No! No, they couldn't be dead! How could they be dead? What had Snape done to them?_

It was only as this thought sped through his mind, that Harry noticed that Snape was also lying on the floor, dead. Confused and panicky, Harry tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't support him and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Lupin looked over from where he was collecting Fawkes's tears in a goblet. 'Stay still, Harry,' he instructed. 'Your strength hasn't fully returned yet.'

Harry sat against the sofa, numb with shock (despite Fawkes softly singing in the background), as Lupin gently rolled Hermione up on one shoulder and let a few drops of the phoenix tears fall onto a bloodied patch on the back of her head. Hermione gave a soft moan.

'She's alive?' gasped Harry.

'They're all alive.' Lupin carefully placed a cushion under Hermione's head. 'But I would say it was due more to good luck than good management. What happened here?'

'Luck gone wrong,' groaned Hermione as she tried to sit up, but slumped back onto the floor. 'Ginny –'

'Where is Ginny?' Harry glanced around. Ginny was the only thing in the room which seemed to be untouched. She was still sitting in her chair, humming softly and licking her lips. The only thing missing was her teacup.

The rest of the room looked like a bomb had gone off. There was a body-sized dent in the wall beside the front window, the tapestry on the far side of the room had been torn from the wall and the mantel lay in pieces in the fireplace. Most of the furniture was overturned or smashed. And near the door, a section of the wall was missing, allowing Harry to see through to the landing where splintered pieces of plaster and timber lay in what looked like a large pool of blood.

'You were lucky to have survived that.' Lupin's gaze followed Harry's. 'Considering you were thrown backwards through a wall with considerable force, you should have come away with a lot more than just a severely cut back and concussion.'

'What about the others?' Harry was still trying to make sense of the view before him.

'Hermione was over near the window. She hit the wall hard enough to damage the plaster, but not enough to go through it like you did. Dumbledore was lying under the tapestry. The magic within the tapestry must have cushioned the blow. As a result, he only seems to have been knocked out, though he'll probably have a monster headache when he comes to.'

'And Snape?'

Lupin looked over at the fireplace. 'I think he hit the marble headfirst. As well as a smashed skull, he also tore his spinal cord in several places.'

'Shouldn't he be dead, then?'

'I Froze him so he wouldn't deteriorate any further before I had a chance to get to him.'

Lupin rolled Snape onto his front and flicked his wand so that Snape lay naked from the waist up. Taking out a small knife, he slowly massaged his fingers up Snape's spine, stopping occasionally to cut the skin and pour a few drops of phoenix tears into the wound. He then pressed his wand against the back of Snape's head and muttered quietly.

Snape growled softly. 'What do you think you're doing, Lupin? You're not a trained Healer.'

'No,' Lupin Summoned another cushion. 'But I'm the closest thing you're going to get unless you're willing to let St Mungo's in on your secret.'

He placed a cushion under Snape's head as Hermione tried to sit up again. Snape turned his head towards her, then tensed as he spotted Dumbledore.

'It's all right,' Lupin rushed to assure him. 'He's alive. He was merely knocked out.' He looked over at Harry. 'Don't let any of them move. I'm just going to get some ice for Dumbledore's head.'

As soon as he left, Snape tried to crawl over to Dumbledore.

'Remus said you weren't to move,' said Harry.

'You are not my keeper, Potter.'

'Where's the eagle?' Hermione looked around searchingly.

That stopped Snape. Harry glanced around. He couldn't see anything gold amongst the rubble.

'I would look _up_ if I were you, Potter,' Snape's voice sounded stronger, 'which fortunately I am not. The bird will have tried to get as high as possible after the fright it suffered.'

'_It_ suffered?'

Snape tried to get up, but failed. 'If that bird has flown the coop, Potter, the Dark Lord's obsession with you shall be nothing compared to the curse I shall place upon you for the next thousand years.'

'It's OK, Professor,' Hermione said gently as Lupin returned. 'It's perched on the valance above the window.'

Snape glared at Lupin. 'What did you do to me? I can't feel my legs. And will someone shut that _bloody_ bird up!'

'That _bloody bird_ -,' said Lupin quietly, 'saved your life.' Briefly, he explained Snape's injuries.

Snape froze. 'And I survived that?'

'With Fawkes's help, yes.' Lupin gently pressed a bundled tea towel against Dumbledore's head. 'Now, as you said, I am not a Healer, so if you can think of anything else which will help everybody recover faster, I'm open to suggestions.' He gazed at Snape expectantly.

Snape seemed slightly taken aback that Lupin had thrown the Quaffle to him but he still managed to rise to the occasion.

'In the bottom of the wardrobe in the headmaster's room, there is a Muggle doctor's bag. Fetch it here and I should be able to greatly improve upon your _attempts_.' The familiar sneer showed he was rapidly recovering himself mentally, if not completely physically. While Lupin ran the errand, Snape finally managed to drag himself over to Dumbledore and began to examine the former headmaster's head.

When Lupin returned, Snape touched the bag with his wand, causing it to sprout several layers of compartmentalised trays overflowing with every size and colour potion bottle known to wizardkind. Picking amongst them almost inattentively, Snape selected what was, in Harry's opinion, so tiny a bottle, it hardly seemed to have been worth the effort of filling it: it couldn't have held more than two drops. Snape added a drop of his own spit, then crushed the bottle against the bump of bone where his neck joined his back. As he pulled his hand away, Harry could see a few specks of blood where the splintered glass had cut the skin.

Snape then removed his shoes and socks and stared intently at his feet. Perplexed, Harry watched as Snape continued to focus on his feet until, a few minutes later, a toe wiggled. Then another. Then all ten toes.

Snape's eyes flashed briefly with grim satisfaction, then he selected another bottle.

'Milk?' Both Harry and Hermione were surprised to see what looked like an ordinary Muggle milk bottle.

'Pure calcium.' Snape poured three goblets and handed two to Harry and Hermione. 'It will instantly repair any cracked or broken bones and strengthen recently-repaired ones. _Drink._' He sneered as he raised his own goblet and drank it in one. After setting the goblet aside, Snape leant back on his elbows and closed his eyes. Slowly, a look, almost of peace, settled upon his face.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged then drank her milk. When she didn't drop dead, Harry felt it was safe to drink his own.

'What do you make pure calcium from?' asked Hermione curiously.

'Liquified dragon bones.'

Harry choked.

'You would have been better letting them think it was milk.' Lupin looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Snape cracked an eye open. 'I might have known I could depend upon you to spoil a man's pleasure.'

'However perverse it may be.' Lupin earned a stern glare.

'Not to sound rude, but what _are_ you doing here?' Snape's lips thinned.

'Ron alerted me to the fact that Harry and Hermione hadn't returned.'

'And how did you get in?'

'Ginny opened the door.'

Snape jerked up straighter. 'Weasley moved from her chair?' His eyes narrowed as he looked over towards her.

'Yes,' Lupin replied slowly. 'Why, shouldn't she have?'

'It means that her luck is finally starting to run out.' Snape had leapt to his feet and was examining Ginny's eyelids again.

Lupin looked confused.

'Hermione and I drank some of that Luck Potion Snape gave me last week,' Harry explained. 'The trouble is, Ginny took some too, and followed us.'

'The two runs of luck seem to have acted against each other,' added Hermione. 'Since we arrived here, nothing has gone right.'

'Is that what caused all this?' Lupin looked around the room.

'The Ravenclaw Horcrux was responsible for the scene which greeted you.' grunted Snape as he returned to Dumbledore's side and began rummaging amongst the potion bottles again. Lupin glanced at Hermione, who pointed over her shoulder at the eagle. 'There was an extremely powerful curse protecting it,' Snape continued as he finally made his selection. He pulled the stopper, then waved the bottle under Dumbledore's nose.

After a moment, Dumbledore gave a contented sigh and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, then squeezed his eyes shut with a low moan.

Snape pressed the bottle to Dumbledore's lips. 'This will ease the headache, Headmaster.'

When Dumbledore opened his eyes a second time, his brow remained unfurrowed and he was able to clearly focus on Snape and Lupin as they helped him sit up. 'No burnt limbs, I trust?'

'Only severed spinal cords,' Lupin replied. 'But nothing Snape and Fawkes weren't able to put right,' he added, with a mischievous smirk as Snape stiffened.

'We shall really need to put our heads together to try to solve the problem of these curses,' sighed Dumbledore as he surveyed the damage, his eyes finally resting upon the eagle.

Harry followed his gaze. 'So it is a Horcrux?'

'It would seem so, although I personally do not recall noticing anything after it started glowing – old age can have that effect on one's memory.'

'Age had nothing to do with it and you know it,' corrected Snape. 'I doubt any of us remembers what happened, with the head injuries we all sustained.' He gingerly pressed a hand to his skull. 'Except perhaps … Weasley.' Snape's eyes flashed.

'Is her memory intact?' asked Dumbledore as Snape again peered into her eyes.

Harry felt a jolt in his stomach. How deeply would Snape examine her memories? Would he see intimate details of Harry and Ginny's relationship? As Snape turned back towards the room, his cold eyes lingered overlong on Harry, who willed his face not to redden. Judging by the glint in Snape's eyes, he didn't succeed.

'Her memories are undamaged, Headmaster.' Snape's lips barely moved. 'And retrievable.'

'Where have you stored the Pensieve, sir?' Lupin jumped up.

'Don't bother, Lupin,' drawled Snape, rummaging amongst his potion bottles again. 'Not until the Felix Felicis has completely worn off. And if Potter's protestations earlier were correct, we do not have time to wait for the _momentous_ event.' He finally found what he was looking for.

Harry sat up a little straighter. 'Is that …?' He received a curt nod as Snape poured four goblets of a tar-like liquid.

'Not Weasley.' Snape stopped Lupin reaching for one of them. 'It will react with the Felix.'

'You'll like this, Hermione,' said Harry as Snape passed her a goblet.

She screwed her nose up at it.

'Don't worry,' Harry assured her. 'It smells and tastes disgusting, but it's a _great_ pick-me-up.'

Hermione still looked doubtful as she watched Harry, Dumbledore and Snape empty their goblets. It was only when Lupin added his voice to their encouragement that she finally swallowed her own dose. Her eyes widened with surprise at the effect. Harry chuckled.

'Now,' said Dumbledore, sitting up straighter. 'We need to plan this carefully. Remus, does anyone besides Ronald Weasley realise that Harry, Hermione and Ginny are missing?'

'Both Molly and Moody. And Molly's probably told Arthur by now.'

Snape threw Harry a look that said he clearly felt Harry was to blame if their secret was discovered.

'Very well,' Dumbledore continued. 'What we shall do it this: Remus, you are to escort the three of them back to The Burrow. Say you found them in Muggle London, at Somerset House, researching Voldemort's family to see if they could find a weakness, someone he was close to.

'The rest of you -,' he turned to Harry and Hermione, '- are to accept your punishments like adults. Molly shall undoubtedly ground you for the remainder of the holidays, but that is only three more days. Once you have returned to Hogwarts, Miss Granger is to disguise herself as Ginny so she won't be missed from her dormitory, then Harry and Ginny are to come here via the Portkey so that we may examine her memory of today's events.'

Harry and Hermione nodded their understanding of Dumbledore's instructions as Lupin gathered Ginny from her chair.

_x_

'Are you ready?'

Four nights after the disaster at Grimmauld Place, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were to be found in Harry's office. Ron was keeping an eye on the Marauders' Map, Harry stood ready with his Invisibility Cloak and Ginny was passing Hermione one of her hairs to be added to a bottle of Polyjuice potion.

Their return to the Burrow hadn't gone quite as smoothly as could have been hoped – they had been discovered by Mr Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron two seconds after George had bumped into them to warn them that Mrs Weasley was on the warpath. As a result, the atmosphere at the Burrow had been very stony, as Mrs Weasley had also blamed Moody for leaving his Invisibility Cloak lying around where Ginny could find it, and Lupin for not alerting her the _instant_ he had found them.

Now safely back at Hogwarts, they were finally free to implement Dumbledore's plan.

Hermione had claimed the post-holiday antics in the common room were making it impossible for her to study and had retired to her room where it would 'be quieter'. She had then returned to the common room under Harry's Cloak and followed Ron and Ginny to Harry's office, where they would be having an extra tutorial. They had then spent an hour explaining everything about Dumbledore and Snape to Ginny, having had no chance at the Burrow due to Mrs Weasley keeping the four of them confined to separate magically-locked bedrooms (even th phoenix feathers didn't work), only letting them out to use the bathroom and for meals, where she had watched them like a hawk.

Harry grinned as Ron's face tried to turn in upon itself as Hermione drank the Polyjuice, as if he was the one tasting the foul brew.

'I really don't know how that Barty Crouch bloke drank that stuff continuously for ten months,' said Ron, sounding like he wanted to be sick.

A few minutes later, Ron and (Ginny'd) Hermione had headed back to the Gryffindor dormitories, and Harry and the real Ginny slowly made their way down to Dumbledore's tomb under the Cloak. Ginny struggled to suppress a giggle as Harry activated the Portkey ('I'll explain the origin of those words later,' Harry promised), then they were standing in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

Ginny glanced nervously for a moment at the Pensieve sitting on the table between Dumbledore and Snape, then seemed to steel herself.

'So, how do we do this?'

'Good evening to you too, Ginny.' Dumbledore's moustache twitched. (Snape's lip curled.) 'Nothing like a bit of bravado to mask the nerves. But I assure you, this won't hurt a bit.'

Once Snape had withdrawn Ginny's memory, having stared deeply into her eyes to pinpoint the exact location (Harry felt his face getting hotter), the four of them plunged deep into the swirling pool.

Looking around, Harry found they had arrived in the entry, just in time to see Hermione knock him against the troll's leg umbrella stand. Glancing around, he saw that everything appeared just as it had four days ago, except that the edges of his vision were slightly blurred.

'Shall we?' Dumbledore led them upstairs to the drawing room where, as the scene unfolded before them, everything became blurrier still. Blinking, rubbing his eyes, and even giving his glasses a good clean with his handkerchief did nothing to improve Harry's vision.

'It's all right, Harry,' murmured Dumbledore, his own eyes fixed upon the eagle. 'You don't need new glasses. Miss Weasley's memory is just a little fuzzy, no doubt due to the effect of the Luck Potion.'

Over near the sofa, the eagle began to glow faintly from Snape's spell. Harry held his breath and willed himself not to blink.

Suddenly, Riddle appeared out of nowhere before Snape, and the scene … froze.

Harry glanced around. Snape had dragged Ginny over to the memory Ginny and was holding two wands, one pressed hard against Ginny's temple, the other buried in the middle of her memory's head. As his lips moved silently, the scene moved a fraction, like a video that had been paused and was being forwarded one frame at a time.

Harry looked closely at Riddle. He had changed again. His hair was longer than it had been in Hokey's memory, though thinner and duller; the bridge of his nose had sunk slightly. His skin was paler, like he hadn't seen the sun for some time, though not as pale as it would become, and his eyes, full of the most malicious hatred Harry had ever seen, were slightly bloodshot. He was definitely older than he had been when he killed Hepzibah Smith, though not quite as old as he had seemed when Dumbledore refused him employment.

Riddle lunged at Snape and looked like he was going to snatch the eagle. A cold hiss (Ginny jerked with fright) echoed around the room.

'_How dare you hasten my weak mother's death; you, who have not one drop of noble wizarding blood flowing through your veins.'_

Throughout this attack, Snape merely stood still, his mouth moving extremely slowly into an 'O' shape. Harry would have said he was astonished by the onslaught, except that his eyes were focused upon the eagle and he didn't seem to notice Riddle at all. Then there was a flash, so bright it was like a star turned supernova. Riddle was suddenly gone, and the four of them were flying through the air, Snape faster than the others because he had copped the curse full on. Judging by the time it took the explosion to occur, Harry realised that, in real time, Riddle had appeared for no more than a microsecond.

He winced as Snape hit the mantelpiece headfirst, shattering the marble (why did Dumbledore give an understanding smile?), and heard Ginny sob softly as Harry disappeared through the wall. Part of him wanted to run over to the torn tapestry to see if Dumbledore was OK, but he stopped himself in time. It wouldn't do to let Snape see him affected by a mere memory. At a nod from Dumbledore that they had seen enough, Harry kicked off, allowing himself to rise with the others until they were once more standing around the kitchen table.

'So, Harry,' Dumbledore settled himself into a chair. 'What are your thoughts on this new evidence?'

'Headmaster,' Snape's cold eyes were boring into Ginny. 'Do you truly believe it advisable to be discussing these matters in front of such a _young_ witness?'

'I already know what's going on.' Ginny's eyes flashed. 'And it's _my_ memory you're discussing.'

Dumbledore gazed at Ginny, considering.

'In this instance, Ginny, I feel Professor Snape is correct. It would be safer, for _your_ sake, if you were not privy to our conversation. The less you know, the less danger you will be in.'

'But – '

'No buts, Ginny.'

Ginny looked shocked that Harry was siding with Snape and Dumbledore.

'How do you think I would feel if something happened to you simply because of what you heard here?' Harry reached out and took hold of her hand, trying hard to ignore Snape's eyes burning into the back of his neck. 'Remember what I said last year – about Voldemort getting to people close to me?'

Ginny nodded.

'Then do this … leave us … for me. Please?'

Ginny gazed pleading at Harry for much less time than Harry expected before capitulating, throwing Snape a murderous glare as she stormed from the room. Harry cast an Impervious Charm at the door before turning back to Dumbledore.

Snape stared at the kitchen door. 'Are you allowing yourself to be distracted by unseemly pleasures, Potter?'

Harry lost the fight to ignore Snape _'Unseemly pleasures?'_

Even Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. 'A rather Victorian sentiment, don't you think, Severus?'

'And highly necessary, Headmaster, if Potter is allowing his hormones to get the better of him.'

Harry snorted. 'I'm trying to protect Ginny. How were my hormones involved?'

'By that very public display of affection – '

'I held her hand!'

'– and declaration of concern for her welfare. You are allowing yourself to be led by your emotions and are _not thinking!_' Snape's nose was inches from Harry's. 'Have a care, Potter. Those who show they _care_ about others are easy prey for the Dark Lord, incapable of even matching him, let alone defeating him, whether they have been _chosen_ for the task or not!'

'That will do, Severus!' Dumbledore's cool tone cut between them. He waited until Snape had taken his place at the end of the table, then turned to Harry.

'You were about to give me your thoughts?' His brows rose expectantly.

'Yes, sir.' Harry shot a quick glance at Snape. 'Voldemort changed again. He was less human than in Hokey's memory, but not as far gone as he was in your memory, so it looks like you were right about it being made when he killed Burke. It also looks like he did blame Burke for his mum's death.'

'Anything else?'

'Er … he thinks he's better than Burke because he's got noble blood?' Harry wasn't sure what Dumbledore was trying to get at.

Snape snorted; Dumbledore spared him the briefest shake of his head.

'I was referring to the changes you noted.'

Harry thought over how Voldemort looked in each memory. He had looked only slightly different in Hokey's memory to how he had looked in the diary, Bob Ogden and Slughorn's memories (when he had been wearing Marvolo's ring …)

'Professor?'

'Yes, Harry?'

'Why didn't Voldemort look different in Professor Slughorn's memory? He'd killed his father by then.'

'Because he hadn't created his first Horcrux at the point. As I explained on Christmas Eve, an act of murder does not, in itself, tear one's soul in two; it only weakens it. It is only when the complex magic needed to create a Horcrux is performed, that a fragment of soul is torn away. So, although Tom murdered his father and grandparents during the summer prior to him starting his fifth year (and Professor Slughorn's memory was from the following February), he did not place his torn soul in the diary until the next summer, after the Chamber of Secrets had been closed again.'

Harry was confused. 'But the Basilisk killed Myrtle, not Voldemort.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'He wasn't drawing from that murder, but his forebears'. When he returned to Hogwarts to begin his sixth year, all of the staff were surprised to see Tom altered in appearance, looking thinner, as though he hadn't eaten properly during the holidays. I remember Horace Slughorn, in particular, continually plied Tom with gifts of food, trying to restore his cheeks to their former healthier appearance, but most of the students (at least the female ones) seemed to find the change made him appear even more handsome.'

'So he looked like he did in Hokey's memory?'

'Yes; mind you, he didn't start growing his hair until after he had left Hogwarts; the school did require the students to be well groomed.'

Harry risked a glance at Snape, remembering his appearance in his fifth-year memory. Snape, in turn, was glaring at Harry's hair, which was refusing to lie flat, as usual. Just like his father's before him.

'Of course,' Dumbledore allowed himself a grin, 'fashions have altered since then.'

'So, if Voldemort had changed again by the time he murdered Burke, then he had already created the Horcrux from Hepzibah Smith's murder.'

'It would seem so.'

'So, he made the diary when he was sixteen, the locket when he framed Hokey, the bird eight years – '

'Why do you assume that his second Horcrux was Slytherin's locket?' Snape was glaring at Harry as if he had stepped in something unpleasant. 'The Dark Lord had _two_ items with which to create that Horcrux. So why –?'

'Severus, that will do,' said Dumbledore quietly.

'No, Headmaster,' Snape's eyes narrowed. (Harry's jaw dropped; usually Dumbledore's word was enough to stop Snape's bullying.) 'I would like to hear Potter's reasons for choosing _that _particular artefact.'

'I chose the locket because it's more important than the cup, at least from a Slytherin point of view. And seeing Voldemort is Slytherin's last descendant, he would consider it the most important of all his Horcruxes. I think if he had had it when he created the first one, he would have used it then.' Harry held Snape's gaze. 'Why do you think he didn't use it for the second Horcrux?'

Snape's lip curled. 'For that very reason: the locket had belonged to Salazar Slytherin. After the Dark Lord had seen to the disposal of all of his living relatives, both paternal and maternal, he was completely alone in the world, with only a locket as proof that he ever _had_ any family. As you correctly concluded, he prized it above all else – well, I suppose the laws of probability dictate that you will, on occasion, get some things right,' (Harry bit back a retort,) 'and so the Dark Lord would have kept it close for as long as possible. No, the locket would not have been one of the first Horcruxes; it would have been one of the last.' He allowed his gaze to rest on Harry's scar.

Dumbledore broke the silence starting to stretch between them. 'You have heard Severus's assessment of your conclusion, Harry; now, I should like to hear your assessment of his.'

Both Harry and Snape stared at him, though Snape schooled his expression into a non-caring attitude far faster than Harry.

'I think it has _some_ merit, sir.' Harry refused to award Snape full points. 'I know I feel that way about things which belonged to my father, but then, as Professor Snape takes great delight in constantly reminding me, I care about people other than myself. Voldemort doesn't, nor has he ever. So would we be concluding correctly if we attributed those same emotions to him which we feel ourselves?' He left the question hanging, waiting to see if Snape would snatch it up.

He wasn't disappointed.

'The Dark Lord does have weaknesses, Potter, although they are very few in number and _caring _is not amongst them. The headmaster believes his greatest weakness is his obsession with his self-importance. His connection to Salazar Slytherin is part of that. So yes, he would have kept the locket safe until the last possible moment; do you not agree, Headmaster?'

Oh, very cleverly done, Harry thought. First, Dumbledore forces you to congratulate me for guessing some things right (although you still managed to rubbish me in the same breath) and now you're drawing Dumbledore into this – on _your_ side.

'I believe both of your opinions have their moments.' Dumbledore settled for the middle ground of diplomacy. 'As you stated, Harry was correct when he said that Voldemort would have prized the Slytherin heirloom above all else,' (Harry tried not to look too pleased with himself) 'but I also agree with you, Severus, in that he would have postponed turning it into a Horcrux until the last possible moment. What we all need to do is put our heads together to work out when each Horcrux was created, and what was used in each case, in order to try to locate the last remaining one.

'The first Horcrux, there is no dispute, was the diary, created when Tom was sixteen, using the fragment torn from the Riddles' murders. The diary was almost like an experiment, a practice run, and not intended for some obscure, unattainable hiding place. After almost forty years, Lord Voldemort surrendered the diary to Lucius Malfoy and informed him that it contained information which would enable the reader to open the Chamber of Secrets. By giving Lucius his first Horcrux, Voldemort risked its discovery and ultimate destruction, which is exactly what came to pass.'

Both Harry and Snape nodded their agreement of this assessment.

'The second Horcrux was most likely Helga Hufflepuff's cup, stolen from Hepzibah Smith at the same time as Slytherin's locket, and created from her death. Where the cup is hidden, we have yet to discover. The one thing we can be certain of is that Voldemort did not leave it hidden amongst Hepzibah's treasures, for her family would have long since unearthed it and squabbled amongst themselves about who should inherit.'

Harry hid a private grin; he knew for a fact that this was the case thanks to Ron's actions at Gringotts.

'Then a period of eight years passed before he created his third Horcrux. We know this because the difference between Voldemort's appearance in Hokey and Ginny's memories suggests a change no greater than that which occurred when he created the diary. The third Horcrux – the eagle – he then hid in Borgin and Burkes.'

'But we still don't know where he hid the cup,' cried Harry frustratedly, earning a reproving glare from Snape.

'We shall get back to that, Harry,' Dumbledore assured him. 'But first, let us continue with what we do know.'

'OK, so what was the fourth Horcrux – the ring?'

Dumbledore nodded as his gaze dropped to his burnt hand. 'I was the one who destroyed it, remember, so I got to see what Voldemort looked like when he created it.'

'And he looked like he did in your office that night?'

Dumbledore looked up from his examination of his hand. 'Yes. So we know for certain that the ring was the fourth Horcrux. We also know that Voldemort hid it in his mother's family home, if it can be considered a home.'

'Who did he kill to make it, and when?'

Dumbledore shrugged. 'That I do not know. Voldemort kept himself separate from wizarding society for many years, travelling, experimenting and perfecting his control of the Dark Arts; changing to such an extent that, when he did finally make himself publicly known to the world again, very few people questioned that he had ever been anything other than what he had become.'

'But if he was still making Horcruxes –?'

'Ah, but he wasn't.' Dumbledore smiled slightly at Harry's confusion. 'The fourth Horcrux was created before his Reign of Terror began, so the Lord Voldemort which the world knew for ten years always had the same appearance – midway between when he came to Hogwarts forty years ago and the night he murdered your parents.'

'So when did he make the locket Horcrux?' Harry frowned in concentration. 'It was probably before I was born, because Regulus died right after, but who … Dorcas Meadowes.'

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged the briefest of glances.

'Where did you hear that name, Harry?' asked Dumbledore guardedly.

'Moody showed me a picture of the original Order of the Phoenix the night before I started fifth year. He said Voldemort killed Dorcas Meadowes personally. That's when he created the fifth Horcrux, isn't it?' He glanced between the two men. 'Who was she; why was her murder so important?'

'She was an … Unspeakable, I believe the term is,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'And one of the brightest students Hogwarts has ever known. She also had the most perfect memory I have ever encountered, and thus was perfectly placed to be my chief researcher.'

'You had somebody from the Department of Mysteries working for you?' Harry stared at Dumbledore. 'Did the Minister know?'

'Not to my knowledge; Dorcas was very good at operating outside people's notice.'

'Except that Voldemort noticed her.'

Snape tensed.

'So it would seem. The last message I received from her said she wanted me to meet someone, but she never got the chance to perform the introductions because she was murdered right after she left work that evening. We always suspected one of her colleagues had been working for Voldemort and tipped him off about her discovery.'

'She found out about the Horcruxes, didn't she? And because of that, Voldemort decided to make a Horcrux from her.' Harry was speaking very quickly, trying to keep pace with the thoughts racing through his head. 'He wouldn't have been able to get any of the Death Eaters to take care of her in case she let something slip, because then they would know his secret. Yeah, he'd have to shut her up before she could tell anyone – especially you – but Regulus must have found out, somehow. How? Did he pass the message on from Rookwood?' Harry looked across at Snape.

Snape's lip curled into the familiar sneer. 'Regulus Black could not have relayed any message, Potter, least of all the one which led to Miss Meadowes's death, as he had been dead for several months himself by that time.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'But ... but how could he have nicked the locket if Voldemort hadn't hidden it yet?'

'Because Dorcas Meadowes's murder didn't herald yet another change in Lord Voldemort's appearance,' Dumbledore spoke up. '_That_ had occurred around the time of the Boneses' deaths.'

Now Harry was really confused. 'But I thought the Boneses were killed by a Death Eater?' (Snape gripped his left forearm.)

'I didn't say Voldemort killed the Boneses, Harry,' Dumbledore glanced very briefly at Snape. 'I said he created a Horcrux at that time.'

'So who did he kill?'

'There are several candidates – murder was, unfortunately, almost a daily occurrence back then – but it doesn't matter whom,' Dumbledore forestalled any further outburst from Harry. 'The important thing is that the fifth Horcrux was created, and Sirius's brother noticed.

'Now, do you both agree with the summary of which Horcruxes were created, and when?'

He was rewarded with two nods.

'Now, we need to analyse the hiding places – '

'I apologise for the interruption, Headmaster,' Snape sounded distracted as he stood, 'but I need to leave.' He was still rubbing his arm.

Dumbledore gazed from Snape's arm up to his face and nodded. 'Take care,' he implored as Snape gathered his cloak about his shoulders.

'And you, Headmaster.' Snape's attitude was even more abrupt than usual. 'Don't let Potter over-tax your strength any more than he already has.' He nodded a very curt farewell as he opened the kitchen door, barely noticing Ginny as she almost bowled him over in her haste to enter the room.

Ginny gazed at Snape's retreating back, then glanced around at Harry and Dumbledore. 'Are we all done, then?'

'Yes,' sighed Dumbledore, rubbing his brow tiredly; Harry noticed that his hand was shaking. 'It is high time both of you returned to Hogwarts. I believe I have managed to give Harry sufficient homework to keep him busy until our next meeting.' He caught Harry's eye. 'And remember what I said about why you can boldly demand an excellent price for this house,' he added mysteriously.

'Er…?'

'Location, location, location.'


	16. Chapter 16: A Throaty Problem

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER SIXTEEN –**

**A Throaty Problem**

'So Snape reckoned You-Know-Who called him in the middle of your discussion?' Ron helped himself to a chocolate frog left over from Christmas.

Upon their return, Harry had begged off telling Ginny about the meeting, claiming tiredness, but he had barely collapsed on his bed when two quiet knocks announced Ron and Hermione's arrival. Now past midnight, the three of them were sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace in Harry's room.

'Yeah, real convenient.' Harry stared disgustedly into the flames crackling in the fireplace. 'Maybe I should get a Dark Mark; I could use it as an excuse to avoid McGonagall and Fulstrum.' He stifled a yawn.

Hermione slapped Ron's hand as he reached for yet another frog. 'We're supposed to be helping Harry, not stuffing our faces.' She consulted the list she had compiled. 'The diary was proof that Voldemort – _oh, grow up, Ron­_ – was descended from Slytherin.'

'But he didn't hide it though, did he?' said Ron around a mouthful of frog.

'He didn't need to,' Harry pointed out. 'He knew he was going to have plenty of other Horcruxes to fall back on.'

'What's next?' asked Ron.

'Hufflepuff's cup – wherever that is.'

'Didn't he nick the locket at the same time? Why couldn't it be that?'

'Because Snape reckons Voldemort would have held off using it – and therefore, not having it close to him anymore – until the last possible moment, and Dumbledore believes he's right. Well, I suppose the laws of probability dictate that Snape is bound to be right occasionally, even if it is _very_ rare.' Harry fought to hide his grin.

'So next,' Hermione's quill moved down the sheet of parchment, 'is the eagle, which was hidden in Borgin and Burkes.' (Ron scowled).

'Yeah, well, he worked there. And he blamed Burke for his mum's death. So that was a really significant place.'

'Next was the ring.' More quill-scratching.

'It was a family heirloom and had the Peverell crest on it. So it was pretty logical for him to hide it in the Gaunts' house.'

'It's also where he committed his first murder from,' contributed Ron.

'But who did he kill to Horcrux the ring?' asked Harry frustratedly.

'It doesn't matter,' replied Hermione.

'_Doesn't matter?'_ Both boys stared at her incredulously.

'No. Why would it? Not every murder involved someone connected with Voldemort. Hepzibah Smith only happened to be between him and the locket, otherwise he probably wouldn't have killed her.'

'Hermione,' Ron was still gaping. 'This is _You-Know-Who_ we're talking about.'

'OK, _possibly_, then. Anyway, the person he killed to create the ring Horcrux might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, too.'

She frowned at the list.

'Now, Harry; Professor Dumbledore believes that the locket was done around the time of the Boneses' murders, right?'

Harry nodded. 'And Voldemort hid it in the cave near where the orphanage took him to when he was a kid. But I don't know who he killed, or if they were someone special or just an opportunity.'

'Again, that doesn't matter.' Hermione ignored Ron's dropped jaw. 'What Dumbledore wants you to concentrate on are the locations. Voldemort seems to be trawling back through his life, though not in any particular order; probably just as the opportunity has presented itself.'

'OK.' Harry forced his eyes to stay open. 'The diary was proof that he was descended from Slytherin; the ring connected him to the Gaunts and his first murder; the eagle – '

'Is a raving lunatic!'

'_Shush, Ron!'_

'– was at Borgin and Burkes, which is both connected with his mum's death and where he worked. The locket belonged to Slytherin and was in the cave from his childhood.'

'And where he first performed magic.'

'What?' Harry stared at Hermione.

'Well, maybe not the _first_ time he ever did magic,' reasoned Hermione with just a hint of superior tone in her voice. 'But I wouldn't mind betting it was the first bit of _truly evil_ magic he ever did.'

'"I can make them hurt if I want to",' Harry murmured.

'What, you mean that boy and girl Dumbledore told you about?' Ron looked up from choosing another frog.

'Yes.' Hermione frowned at Ron tearing the wrapper.

'So what does all that give us?' Ron started munching.

'Voldemort's line started with Salazar Slytherin, came down through the Peverells and the Gaunts, then Merope sold the locket to Borgin and Burkes before giving birth to Voldemort in that orphanage,' Harry summarised. 'Voldemort grew up in the orphanage, found out he could talk to snakes, and went to the seaside, where he did something to those kids in the cave.'

'Then he came to Hogwarts,' Hermione looked grimly at Harry, 'where he was a model student, prefect and Head Boy.'

'Except for him still running around with snakes and hurting people,' Ron put in. 'Not to mention getting Hagrid expelled.'

'Then he got a job at the place which swindled his mum –'

'Which brought him into contact with two Hogwarts founders' heirlooms.'

'So he nicked them,' Ron eyed the remaining food, 'then took off for … how long did Dumbledore reckon he was gone?'

'Twenty-five years, for the most part,' said Harry. 'He apparently spent a fair bit of it in and around Albania, though what the connection is there, I don't know. I just know that it was near there that he came across Professor Quirrell, and he disappeared back there after Quirrell died.'

'Probably Dark Magic.' Hermione seemed to have given up on Ron not eating all the food and decided she needed to get in quick if she wanted some for herself. Grabbing the last Chocoball, she continued. 'Eastern Europe has a really long history of the Dark Arts: you've got vampires in Romania, giants in Siberia, trolls in Poland – '

'Fine, we get the idea,' grumbled Ron. 'So does that mean he hid the cup in Albania?'

'God, I hope not.' Harry stared helplessly into the flames. 'We'd _never_ find it. Where would we even start?'

'The snakes could probably tell you.' Hermione took a bite of Chocoball.

'What snakes?' Ron frowned at Hermione.

'The snakes which associated with the ones Voldemort possessed.' Harry sat up straighter.

'Huh?'

'The night Voldemort came back,' Harry explained, 'he told the Death Eaters how he had been hiding in a distant forest, waiting for them to come looking for him, keeping himself going by possessing animals … mostly snakes. But the snakes he possessed died faster because of it. Wormtail found him because rats told him about a place which had become dangerous for small animals. So it makes sense that other animals would also know about this place.'

'So you're going to go roaming through Albania, talking to every snake you meet?' snorted Ron.

'If that's what it takes to beat Voldemort, then yes.' Harry still stared at the fireplace.

'There's an easier way,' Ron said. Both Harry and Hermione looked across at him. 'Get Dumbledore to order Snape to get the information out of Wormtail. Well, he's been there, so he knows where You-Know-Who was hiding. It would also give us a chance to find out if Snape really is on our side or not, because if he disobeys Dumbledore, then we'll know.'

Harry stared at Ron. 'You know, that's really clever.' (Ron beamed.) 'Why didn't I think of that?'

'What, you want all the clever ideas for yourself?' Ron tried to look indignant.

'And when do you plan to go traipsing through Albania?' asked Hermione.

Harry came back down to earth with a bump. He couldn't go rushing off yet, even if he did know where to look; he had his students to consider. He was actually kind of enjoying teaching, guiding young minds through the steps necessary to guard themselves against the forces of darkness, feeling extremely proud of their improvements and successes. He couldn't just up and leave them in the lurch. 'It'll have to wait until after I finish school.'

'Why wait that long?' Ron looked appalled at the idea of not leaving as soon as they got the information out of Wormtail.

'How would you feel if you were in the middle of learning to defend yourself against Dark magic and your teacher suddenly up and disappeared? Then there's the Ministry. They're enough of a pain as it is; I don't want to give them the chance to get me for something because I'm not _qualified_ even if I am of legal age now.'

'So what do we do in the meantime?' Ron snatched the last two frogs and tossed one to Harry.

'Try to think of somewhere here in Britain where the cup might be hidden.' Hermione finished the last of her Chocoball.

'But you said it was in Albania!'

'We only said it _might_ be there; we could be wrong, but we won't find out for ages. If we have other possible places to check out, we might find the cup in the meantime and save ourselves a wasted trip.'

'OK.' Ron stared at Hermione. 'Where else might it be?'

'Somewhere important to Voldemort,' Hermione replied.

'That goes without saying,' muttered Ron. 'But where is there left? He's hidden something in every important place – his mum's house, his old workplace, his diary and, most important of all, the cave.'

'Why is the cave most important?' Hermione frowned at Ron.

'Well, that's where he hid the locket,' argued Ron.

'But it was only the locket which was most important,' countered Hermione.

'OK then.' Ron rubbed his eyes tiredly. 'Where do you reckon was the most important place in You-Know-Who's life?

'Hogwarts.'

'What?' Ron and Hermione broke off their argument to stare at Harry.

'Hogwarts is the only place Voldemort has ever truly felt that he belongs,' said Harry softly. 'I know, because I feel the same.'

'Except he hasn't been back here since he finished school and he didn't know Hufflepuff's cup even existed at that point,' Ron pointed out.

'He has been back here.' Harry dragged his eyes away from the flames dying in the fireplace. 'Ten years after he killed Hepzibah Smith, he came here to ask Dumbledore for the Defence Against the Dark Arts job; that was when he cursed it.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

'It would be a logical hiding place,' agreed Ron. 'But where would he have picked? It's pretty big, after all.'

'It would have to be somewhere he knew nobody would accidentally stumble upon,' reasoned Hermione.

'Like a place only _he _was able to get to.' Harry looked up at both of his friends. 'The Chamber of Secrets.'

'But why would he hide Hufflepuff's cup there?' asked Ron. 'Wouldn't it be more logical for him to have hidden Slytherin's locket in the Chamber? After all, he built it.'

Harry thought a moment. 'He might have been worried that Slytherin wouldn't give it back. Plus, at that time in his life, he'd only made three Horcruxes; the locket was going to be one of the last, remember?'

'If You-Know-Who felt the locket was so important, then shouldn't it have been the sixth Horcrux, rather than the fifth one?' Ron glanced across at Hermione, as if challenging her to find something wrong with his opinion.

Harry exchanged a nervous glance with Hermione before speaking up. 'Only if the Boneses died before Snape heard Professor Trelawney's prophecy. I could have my dates mucked up.'

'It'll be easy enough to find out,' Hermione said as she rolled up her parchment. 'I'll check the _Prophets_ in the library during lunch-time. If Mr Bones was an Auror, then it should definitely …' she smothered a yawn, '… have rated a mention. Where are you going?'

Harry had jumped up. 'There's a quicker way to find out,' he said as he grabbed his Cloak and Firebolt. 'Look in the Chamber.'

Ron looked horrified. 'You're going to open the _Chamber of Secrets_?'

'Why not? It's not like there's a Basilisk in it anymore … not a live one, at any rate. What?' He looked from Ron to Hermione.

'Don't you think you should run the theory past Dumbledore first?' Hermione asked. 'Tomorrow,' she added as Harry still reached for the doorknob. 'It is pretty late, after all, and you did say he was tired.'

_x_

Two days later, Harry was halfway through a stack of third-year essays when there was a knock on the door. He glanced up to see Ron, Hermione and Ginny walk in.

'You know, students are supposed to wait for a teacher to say they can enter before barging straight in.'

'Like that applies to us.' Ginny returned Harry's wry grin.

Ron looked around at the piles of parchment. 'Wow mate, you're swamped. How do you get through all this?'

'By not being interrupted unnecessarily.' Harry smirked again.

Hermione looked slightly disappointed. 'Oh, OK. Well, we can come back later, if you like.' She turned to go.

'What?' Ron cried. 'You said we had to discuss this with him _now._'

Harry glanced from Ron to Hermione. 'Discuss what now?'

'How we're going to find out if there really is a Horcrux hidden in the Chamber of Secrets.' Ginny's voice shook slightly.

Harry wasn't surprised – the Chamber was a touchy subject for her. What did surprise him was the fact that she was here with Ron and Hermione. He would have thought she wouldn't want to go near it again. And judging by the looks on their faces, he was willing to bet his Firebolt they were bracing themselves to argue with him to let them come along. He took a deep breath.

'OK, what do you propose?' Harry leant back in his chair.

Three pairs of eyes blinked startledly back at him.

'You're not going to talk us out of helping you?' Ron sounded like he couldn't believe his good luck.

'Nope!' Harry shook his head. 'So, let's hear it.'

Hermione pulled up a chair. Ron and Ginny followed suit.

'The way we see it,' Hermione began, 'the cup won't be as well protected as the eagle was. But we still need to be very careful about testing the curse. Voldemort –' (Ron's fists clenched) '– seems to have increased the strength and damage of each curse in succession, probably as he became more powerful and devised better ways to protect his Horcruxes.'

'How do you work that one out?'

'Because two of the first three Horcruxes he made – the diary and the eagle – weren't protected by curses which would kill you' explained Hermione.

'The eagle nearly killed Snape,' Harry pointed out. 'If Lupin hadn't arrived when he did, he _would_ have died.'

'But it wouldn't have been the curse which killed him, but the collision with the mantelpiece. Now,' Hermione continued, 'if Dumbledore is correct, Voldemort made the Hufflepuff Horcrux between the diary and the Ravenclaw one, so the curse protecting it shouldn't be deadly either.'

'When did Dumbledore tell you that?' Ginny wanted to know.

'Last night.'

'You went to see Dumbledore last night?' Ron glanced at Harry, who shrugged; this was news to him.

'Anyway,' Hermione ploughed on, ignoring Ron gaping by her shoulder, 'it means that the counter-curse we'll need in order to get our hands on Hufflepuff's cup may not be strong enough to stop it injuring us like the one on the eagle did, so I think it would be best to have two people hang back to help the front line if we get injured.'

'No!' said Harry firmly. 'Three people will hang back. _I –_' he stopped Hermione as she opened her mouth '- will try to get past whatever trap Voldemort has set. No,' he forestalled Ron, 'think about it. Of all the people who have encountered these Horcruxes, I'm the one who has come off lightest. The diary almost destroyed Ginny,' (he noticed her pale slightly) 'but I only got hurt by the Basilisk, not the diary. And when Snape tried to test the eagle, considering I was thrown _through_ a wall, I only got cuts and concussion. The Horcruxes don't hurt me as much as everyone else.'

Harry could tell Ron thought he had the wrong end of the broomstick, but Ginny looked like she thought the idea had merit.

'You know, that's not as far-fetched as it sounds.'

'Oh, come on,' argued Ron. 'It's just Harry trying to protect us as usual.'

'I'm letting you come along,' Harry pointed out. 'If I really wanted to protect you, I wouldn't even let you do that much. Look at it from my point of view. You lot are my best friends. You've always been there for me when I needed you most, and you're still here supporting me. But there's also the problem that the people who care about me most and put themselves between Voldemort and me tend to wind up dead – my mum and dad, Sirius, and Dumbledore. I don't want to lose any more friends, especially not because of me. I'll accept your help, but on my terms only.'

Hermione and Ginny only took a moment to nod their agreement, but Ron still wanted to argue.

'But what if you do get hurt?'

'I won't.'

'Why? Because you're the Chosen One? How is a Horcrux which was made only a few years after your parents were born supposed to know that you're OK to touch it?'

Harry stared down at his desk. He could feel Hermione watching him.

'Now's as good a time as any to tell them, lad,' offered Sirius's portrait.

'You stay out of this,' growled Harry.

'I mean,' the picture continued, ignoring Harry, 'you were going on before about their worthiness. Haven't they proven they're worth trusting with this?'

Harry forced himself not to look at Sirius, although he could picture the roguish dog-like grin.

'You're still keeping secrets from us?' Ron sounded slightly hurt.

'Ron, don't!' begged Hermione as Ron went to leave.

'It's OK, Hermione.' Harry finally looked up at them. 'Sirius is right. You deserve to know the truth.'

Ron turned. Harry held his gaze as he sat down again, then took a deep breath.

'You know that bit in the prophecy about "either must die at the hand of the other"?'

'You mean where you have to kill You-Know-Who?'

'Or he has to kill me.' Harry waited a moment for that to sink in. 'How would you feel if it was the latter?'

Even Hermione gasped at that one, though not as loudly as Ron or Ginny, nor did she join them in protesting the likelihood of that outcome.

'Dumbledore wouldn't be spending all his energy training you if he thought you were a goner…'

'Surely you're not going to take this lying down…'

'Do you really want to prove Trelawney right? She's impossible enough as it is…'

'I'm not going to lose you, not now…'

'Don't you think so, Hermione?' Ron turned to her, then blinked as he realised that, instead of joining in the argument, she had been sitting back in her chair, her eyes squeezed shut, though a single tear had escaped, and was quietly muttering to herself, 'This is all my fault,' over and over again.

'What's all your fault?' Ron was understandably confused.

'Hermione was the one who realised where the sixth Horcrux is,' said Harry quietly.

'What? Where is it?' Ron gaped at Harry while Ginny hugged Hermione and muttered something about 'boys'.

'Me.'

Ron blinked uncomprehendingly. 'You? How can you be a Horcrux? I didn't think you could be alive? And anyway, when would Voldemort have …?' His voice faded as his gaze rested on Harry's scar.

'No!' Ron was on his feet, backing away from the desk and shaking his head. 'No, no, no! No way. You can't … I mean, you would have to … But then how …'

Hermione gave a sob, broke out of Ginny's stunned grip and ran from the room. Harry had barely had the chance to get to his own feet, let alone call her name, when they heard a scream, then a very loud thud, as though she had fallen over something. Finally making it to the doorway, Harry (with Ron and Ginny both peering over his shoulders) stared at the scene before them.

Hermione was standing in the middle of the corridor, holding her wand, and shaking with fury. At her feet, piled one on top of the other, were Crabbe and Goyle.

'They were listening at the keyhole.' Hermione's teeth were clenched. 'How much do you think they heard?'

'Who cares?' Ron pushed past Harry. 'Come on, let's get them inside before Filch or Peeves turn up.'

Harry levitated them into his office (Hermione refused to let herself, Ron or Ginny assist because students weren't really supposed to do magic in the corridors), then the four of them stood looking down at Malfoy's old henchmen.

'Now what do we do?' Ginny glanced up as Ron shrugged.

'Wait for instructions from Dumbledore,' replied Harry. 'Sirius left as soon as we shut the door.' He nodded towards the empty frame.

Several tense minutes passed before Sirius came running back into view, gasping for breath and clutching his side.

'Remus is on his way; he'll try to get in through Honeydukes. Can some of you cause a diversion to keep Filch busy?' He glanced around the group.

Ginny grabbed Ron's hand. 'Come on.'

'Why does it have to be us?' Ron protested as Ginny dragged him to the door.

'Because you're Head Boy. You can catch me out of bed and I'll Hex you.'

'Hermione's Head Girl. Why can't she catch you?'

'What, you reckon you can guard those two –' (Ginny pointed at Crabbe and Goyle) '– better than Hermione can?' Her expression was very sceptical. 'Now come on!'

'I don't envy Ron being on the receiving end of Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex.' Hermione was grinning widely as Ginny slammed the door.

'Are you going to be OK?' asked Harry as he collected his Cloak and Map. Hermione answered by pointing her wand at the unconscious Slytherins and adopting a serious, determined expression.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was stationed opposite the statue of the one-eyed witch, closely watching the Marauder's Map. Ron and Ginny had just been sprung by Filch, and Peeves was quickly racing towards them, when Remus's name appeared at the edge of the Map, steadily making its way along the tunnel from Honeydukes. Harry squinted at the corridor on the Map, made sure nobody was coming, then whispered, '_Dissendium'_, causing the statue to leap aside.

'That was fast,' said Harry as Lupin stopped into view.

'I Apparated along the tunnel,' explained Lupin. 'Only as far as the school boundaries, but it cut the time down considerably. Where are they?' He accepted the Invisibility Cloak from Harry.

'In my … I mean, your old office.'

'No, it's _your_ office, Harry, and deservingly so.' Lupin's eyes glowed proudly as he donned the Cloak.

_x_

'You certainly worked a treat on them.'

Hermione blushed as she looked down at Lupin crouched beside Crabbe and Goyle, shaking his head as he examined them.

'What did you use?'

'Artus jinx.'

Lupin's head shot up. 'That's Auror level.'

Hermione shrugged. 'Tonks used it on Harry last summer.' She tried not to look pleased with herself, and failed.

'I don't mean to sound rude,' Harry looked up from the map on his desk, 'but you might want to hurry up. McGonagall just left her office.'

'No time for fine tuning then. We'll just have to come up with a good story as to why their brains suddenly aren't working properly.'

'No need,' snorted Harry as Lupin pressed his wand against Crabbe's temple. 'They never had any brains to start with.'

Three minutes later, the deed done, Harry and Lupin hadn't had time to do anything more than quickly tuck the Invisibility Cloak around Crabbe and Goyle when McGonagall knocked on the door. She faltered on the threshold when she saw Lupin leaning casually against Harry's desk.

'Rem … I mean, Professor Lupin … what are you doing here?' Her determined air was wilting before their eyes.

'He's tutoring Harry and myself, Professor,' Hermione answered her. (Harry sent out a silent thanks to Hermione while forcing himself not to glance at her.)

McGonagall looked from one to the other, clearly confused.

'Yes,' Lupin picked up the thread. 'Harry hasn't been too impressed with Fulstrum's refusal to teach him. Even with the issue of Voldemort aside, he still wants to be an Auror when he leaves school, and for that he needs Outstanding in Defence, so –'

'So I asked Professor Lupin to teach me,' Harry said. 'After all, he's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to work here since I started _and_ he was a friend of my parents and my godfather. Why wouldn't I turn to him?'

McGonagall turned her attention to Lupin. 'But how did you get in? I thought we had all the entrances … Tonks!' Her eyes flashed. 'I'll be having words with that girl. Just because she has feelings for you doesn't mean she can let you abuse those feelings.'

'I haven't abused anybody's feelings.' Lupin's voice held a very slight bite. 'Harry asked for help and we gladly gave it.'

Harry felt a twinge of guilt – did Tonks help Lupin get through Honeydukes?

'And you've been sneaking into the school all year?' McGonagall still sounded like she felt she was losing control of a runaway train.

'Actually, Harry has mostly been sneaking out to me. There's been a lot going on which you don't know about.' He leant against Harry's desk. 'For instance, did you know that the Ministry has tried to have Harry followed each time he's openly left the school? Or that Fulstrum is deliberately trying to make Harry fail on _Scrimgeour's_ orders?'

'I may not be Albus, but I'm not a complete nincompoop, thank you. As head of the Order, I have been aware for some time that the Minister has had ulterior motives where Potter is concerned, but I've been guarding against that … or I thought I was.' She threw Harry a dirty look. 'I must say I am extremely disappointed with both your behaviour, Potter, and your attitude. I have been trying to protect you all year, and you have been making a joke of that protection behind my back. That little performance earlier with the Weasleys was all part of this too, wasn't it; I thought it seemed a bit contrived.' Her nostrils flared.

'So, to make certain it doesn't happen again, fifty points shall be taken from Gryffindor for the Weasleys' antics, fifty for dragging the Head Boy and Girl into this, and fifty for managing to get around the school's security.'

'Instead of being mad at Harry,' Lupin drew McGonagall's attention again, 'you should be happy that he is man enough to take charge of his own destiny.'

'While everyone's been busy trying to protect me,' Harry tried to steady his breathing, '– mainly by keeping me in the dark – I made bad decisions which got both Cedric and Sirius killed. Your good intentions also haven't stopped Voldemort getting to me. You can keep interfering, but you won't stop me. If I come face to face with Voldemort again, I'll be as well trained as I possibly can be. And I'll get help when and from whom I deem necessary.'

'I've been trying to help you all year –'

'You've been trying to help the _Order_ all year, and getting me to help you. Even though you've got me teaching, you're still thinking of me as a child. Why else would you have just taken all those points off me.' (McGonagall looked slightly shocked at Harry's outburst.) 'But I'm not a kid anymore. I'm legally an adult, I've faced Voldemort several times _and_ survived, I got through the Triwizard and I topped my OWL in Defence. Believe me, I do not need your help at present. If, and when, I do need it, you'll be the first to know.'

McGonagall stared at Harry, her mouth slightly open. When she finally drew a shaky breath, she said, 'You should, at least, inform me when you do leave the school grounds –'

'No!' Lupin cut across her. 'If the right people don't know about Harry's comings and goings, then the _wrong_ people are less likely to notice either. Now,' he pushed off from the desk, 'if you will excuse me, I need to get going. If you wouldn't mind escorting me to the front door, Hermione?'

'Stay where you are, Granger,' ordered McGonagall. 'I shall see Professor Lupin safely to the gate. Then I want a word with you two in my office.'

Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick glance. 'Yes, Professor,' they mumbled as she marched from the office.

Harry counted to ten before allowing himself to collapse against the desk. 'Thanks for the tutoring idea.'

'No problem.' Hermione's voice was as shaky as Harry felt. 'What do we do now?'

'Go to McGonagall's office, I guess. How long did you knock Crabbe and Goyle out for?'

'Twelve hours, so they can safely stay here all night. They should wake up with roaring headaches at about nine tomorrow morning.'

'Roaring headaches?'

Hermione nodded.

'That gives me an idea. Come on.'

It was close to midnight when Harry and Hermione finally returned to the Gryffindor common room, feeling decidedly battered by McGonagall's fury and downcast by her refusal to change her mind. Nobody in the dormitories had realised yet that Gryffindor had just lost one hundred and fifty points, but Harry knew it wouldn't be long; news always travelled very quickly through the school. The main thing which Harry had to make sure of now was that no one learned the _real_ reason why those points were lost.

'Are you all right, Harry?'

'What?' Harry was dragged out of his musings.

'I just said "Good night", and you didn't even blink.' Hermione was watching him worriedly.

'Mmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm OK. Look, can you get Ginny and meet me in my room? We need to get our stories straight.'

'For what?'

'Tomorrow morning,' Harry replied darkly.

By the time they all got down to the Great Hall for breakfast, the news was spreading like wildfire.

'She used an _Unforgivable_?'

'He looks so pale.'

'How did they ever think they would get away with it?'

'I always thought there was something wrong with that Mudblood –'

Ron's head jerked around at that one, but Hermione steered him resolutely to the far end of the Gryffindor table.

'Ignore them,' she said quietly as she helped herself to some toast. All the other Gryffindors glared at them silently. 'We knew something like this would happen. Better this than the truth. They'll forget it soon enough.'

'I know,' Harry suppressed a grin. 'What they need is a distraction.' He broke off as he saw McGonagall moving towards them.

'Potter, come with me.' Her expression brooked no argument.

Once she had led Harry to the ante-chamber where the Triwizard champions had gathered after selection, McGonagall turned.

'What are these rumours about Granger using the Cruciatus curse upon you?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Ron, Hermione and I staged an argument in the Gryffindor common room before.'

McGonagall's brow creased. 'Why?'

'We needed a valid excuse for losing a hundred and fifty points. I couldn't allow the whole school to know about me being outside Hogwarts. The more people who know, the greater the chance of Voldemort finding out. Malfoy may be gone, but Crabbe and Goyle are still here.'

'Surely you're not suggesting that You-Know-Who has recruited –'

'No.' Harry held her gaze. 'But their fathers are Death Eaters –'

'Who are currently in Azkaban.'

'Goyle's isn't. Nor are their mothers. For all I know, they get together with Malfoy's mum to drink tea and gossip. And Malfoy's mum's sister _is_ a Death Eater. A free one.' Harry's voice shook slightly; in his mind's eye, he once again saw Bellatrix Lestrange killing Sirius.

McGonagall regarded him for several moments, her lips pressed tightly together. 'Very well, Potter,' she finally conceded. 'I suppose the story you and Granger have invented is as good as any to safeguard the truth, but I am _most_ displeased that you did not at least confide in me what your intentions were.'

She opened the door leading back to the Great Hall and was hit by a wave of raucous laughter. Harry could see Flitwick hurrying towards them.

'Headmistress, come quickly. Two Slytherin boys have been found in a girls' bathroom. They seem to have gotten drunk on Firewhisky and it's affected their memories.'

Confident that McGonagall's attention was no longer focused on him, Harry quietly slipped past her and returned to his friends.

'This one really takes the cake, mate!' Ron was clutching his side. 'S'even better than Fred and George's fireworks!'

'How did you manage it?' Hermione struggled to bring her giggling under control. 'We've been with you all morning.'

'I got Dobby to move them to Myrtle's bathroom, nick some Firewhisky bottles from the kitchens, and splash them with it. Don't worry,' he rushed on, 'I paid him.'

'But what about Myrtle?' Hermione pressed. 'She's adamant she saw them drinking, not getting dragged into the bathroom already unconscious.'

'Dobby again; I got him to word her up. Do you really think she wouldn't want to be in the middle of a bit of fun like this?' he laughed.

'Well, mate,' Ron grasped the table to support himself as he stood. 'You said they needed a distraction.' He glanced around the Great Hall where nobody seemed concerned about Harry and Hermione anymore.

Instead, on everyone's lips were the names Crabbe and Goyle.

Despite the kerfuffle with the intoxicated Slytherins drawing everyone's attention away from Harry, he still waited until the following weekend when the entire school, keen to see Slytherin's beaters cop another pasting, was outside watching the first Quidditch match of the new term (Ravenclaw versus Slytherin) before he felt it was safe for them to go down to the Chamber of Secrets.

Ginny glanced around nervously as they entered Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The last time she had been in here had not been a happy experience. Hermione, however, was full of curiosity. Not having been present when Harry had opened the Chamber at the end of their second year (being flat out in the hospital wing in a Petrified state), she only had Harry and Ron's description of what was about to happen.

'Go away.' Myrtle peeked out from the end toilet. 'Oh, it's you,' she said flatly when she saw Harry.

'What did you do to offend her?' asked Ron as Harry started examining the copper taps.

'I hope you're not going to try to murder anybody else,' Myrtle continued morosely.

'Why would Harry want to _murder_ someone?' Ron stared at her, aghast.

'Well, I notice the boy he tried to kill last year isn't here anymore, so he obviously succeeded on his second try. And Professor Snape isn't here anymore, either.' She grinned at Ron as if that somehow explained everything.

Ron turned to Harry. 'What?'

'Ignore her.' Harry finally found what he was looking for: a tiny snake scratched into the side of one of the taps. He glanced up at the others. 'Ready?' he asked and got three nods in reply.

Looking back, he focused hard on the snake.

'_Open up_,' he hissed, causing the tap to glow with a brilliant white light and start to spin. Next, the sink sank out of sight, exposing a large, wide pipe.

Making sure his Firebolt was carefully wrapped in his Cloak for protection (they wouldn't be able to rely on Fawkes to return them safely to the school), Harry lowered himself into the pipe and let go.

'Where are we?' whispered Hermione, gazing around in awe after they had all shot out of the end of the pipe, landing with a wet thud in the dark stone tunnel.

'Under the lake,' Ron informed her as he lit his wand. Feet slipping on the damp floor, they headed down the tunnel, trying hard not to jump at the monstrous-looking shapes their shadows made on the wet walls.

While last time the tunnel had been as quiet as a tomb, this time small creatures scuttled around their feet. Lowering his wand, Harry saw that the tunnel was infested with dozens of rats, free to scurry about and multiply unhindered by the purging appetite of the Basilisk. Trying to step carefully through the rats – both living and skeletal – they pressed on.

Around the first bend, they wriggled their way through the rock fall and came upon the shed snakeskin. At least twenty feet long, the poisonous green coils seemed to mock them and their belief that its master's chamber was now conquered.

Three more bends and they finally came upon the solid wall which marked the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Two entwined serpents were carved onto the stone, large emeralds glinting out of their eye sockets.

'Wow.' Ron and Hermione's mouths gaped open as they stared, mesmerised, at the wall. Harry gave them a moment to take in the sight before them, then he broke the silence.

'OK, you lot,' he said, the sound of his voice making them jump. 'You remember what we discussed. You keep guard out here. Ron –' Harry handed the still-wrapped broom to his friend, '– take good care of that; we're going to need it to get out of here.' He didn't know why his throat was dry. The Basilisk was dead … there was nothing to fear … he was just being silly …

Turning on suddenly weak legs, Harry faced the snakes, concerned about what Voldemort may have lain to guard the Horcrux, but more worried that Ron would notice him shaking.

'_Open_,' he hissed, taking a step back as the wall parted and the snakes slid out of sight. With a deep breath, Harry entered the Chamber of Secrets.

He stood just inside the door a moment and gazed down the long length of the dimly lit room.

'Oh, Harry.'

Harry almost jumped out of his skin.

'You were supposed to wait outside!' he scolded, glaring at Hermione with what he hoped was a disapproving look but he wasn't sure it worked; his fear for Hermione's safety was battling with his relief that he had some company.

Throwing a look back at him which clearly said 'try and stop me', Hermione slowly walked between the tall stone columns, her skin glowing slightly green in the odd light.

'He had a real thing for snakes, didn't he?' she commented, gazing at the multitude of stone serpents twisting around the pillars up to a ceiling so high above them, it was engulfed in impenetrable blackness. 'You'd think he'd –' She broke off with a gasp. 'One of them just moved.'

'It was a trick of the light.' Harry wasn't sure if he was reassuring Hermione or himself.

'But –'

'Come on, we have to find that cup.' Harry pushed past Hermione and approached the back wall, but pulled up at the sight of the dead Basilisk. Phantom pain shot up Harry's arm as he remembered the Basilisk's dying moments but, if its fang hadn't broken off like that, he wouldn't have been able to destroy the diary so easily.

'Urgh.' Hermione looked slightly sick as she took in the rotted flesh, exposed bones and dried dark stain on the floor, a mixture of both the Basilisk and Harry's blood. Dragging her eyes from the scene before them, she looked up at the back wall.

'Is that Slytherin?' she whispered by Harry's ear, gazing in awe at the gigantic statue before them. Harry noticed that she had her wand out, ready.

'Mmm.' Harry's eyes followed the long thin beard up sweeping robes to the ancient monkey-like face. Why Voldemort would be proud of being descended from someone so ugly, he didn't know.

Concentrating hard, Harry once again hissed his orders. '_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._'

Hermione stifled another gasp as the massive stone mouth stretched wide to make a large gaping hole. She glanced at Harry and gave a nervous giggle, then stepped up to the statue and tried to peer inside the mouth but it was too high up. Chewing her lip, Hermione gazed around the Chamber, pondering the problem then, to Harry's horror, she grabbed the dead Basilisk.

'What –?'

Before Harry could react fully, Hermione pointed her wand at the carcass, which promptly transformed into a rope ladder. Waving her wand again, she made the end of the rope rise into the air, twisting and turning like a snake moving to a charmer's tune, until it hooked itself over Slytherin's nose. She gave a tug, testing its fastness. Harry grinned in spite of himself.

'OK, that's Transfigurations and Charms covered. Want to try for Potions?'

Poking her tongue out at him, she asked, 'Coming up?', a foot on the bottom rung.

Wondering just who was in charge of this quest, Harry followed.

'There's definitely something metal in there.' Hermione shone her wand down Slytherin's dark throat. Peering past her shoulder, Harry saw something shine as the light passed over it. 'It's too far down though,' muttered Hermione, thinking out loud. 'My arm's not that long.'

'Let –'

'No, it's OK; I've got it.' Hermione straightened her arm. '_Accio_ –'

'_No!_' Harry barely had time to cry out when something hit him in the face, followed by bone-crunching pain as he landed flat on his back on the cold stone floor at the ladder's base.

'_Harry!_'

Harry tried to blink the stars from his blurred vision (his glasses must have fallen off) as Hermione's anxious face appeared above him, and then his face was on fire. Thin shadows kept drifting in and out of sight, slapping him, then something long, thin and very strong wrapped around his neck and suddenly a burning face seemed trivial compared to the struggle to breathe. He could hear someone screaming, and someone was struggling against him, then Hermione's voice said 'I'm sorry about this, Harry,' and the screaming stopped.

Harry couldn't move. He couldn't blink, speak, swallow … anything. It was like someone had put him under the Body-Bind again. But just because he couldn't move didn't mean the fire had stopped. The worst thing was, he couldn't even cry against it.

Frozen with an array of shadows flapping frustratedly before him, as those shadows somehow burnt the skin from his face, was more than Harry was prepared to endure but he just lay uselessly as his body rose several inches into the air.

'What happened?'

Ron and Ginny ran after Hermione as they sped along the tunnel back to the pipe leading back to the school, her wand floating Harry before them.

'Will it carry all of us?' Ginny's pale face gazed anxiously at the Firebolt as Ron unwrapped it.

'It'll have to.' Ron glanced around at the group, sizing them up.

'Ginny, you sit right at the back … tie the end of that really tight around your middle. Hermione, you go in front of her …'

Harry felt Ron twist a long length of fabric several times around him and then tug, slamming Harry hard against himself and Hermione. Vaguely, through the pain, Harry realised Ron had used the Invisibility Cloak to strap him to their sides, stretched along the length of the broom.

'Ready?' Ron asked as he finished knotting the Cloak securely around his own waist. Then they were shooting upwards past dozens of side pipes, Harry's unblinking eyes staring at the faint light rushing towards them.

'What happened to –?'

'_Not now, Myrtle!_' Harry heard Ginny snap in the wild flurry of untangling everybody from the Firebolt and wrapping the Cloak completely around Harry. Bobbing vertically along in front of them, Harry saw corridor after corridor rush past as they hurried through the school, up to the Gryffindor Tower.

'He put them in the bottom of his … Ah, got them!'

Harry wondered, in the midst of the pain, what Ron was looking for in his trunk, then he heard Hermione muttering the instructions for Fawkes's tail feathers. Somebody grabbed his hand and forced him to grip something soft and silky, then the room dissolved before his eyes.

_x_

'Why was it so bad?'

'Come on, Ron,' said Lupin. 'Let Severus do his job.'

Harry was lying stretched along the length of the kitchen table at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, several blankets folded beneath him for cushioning as Snape leaned over him, casting spell after spell, none of which seemed to be doing much good. His face burned, his eyes stung and his head felt like it was going to explode.

'I can't work like this,' growled Snape and waved his wand yet again, releasing Hermione's Body-Bind. Half a second later, the burning intensified so much, Harry screamed.

Snape was thrown across the kitchen and slammed hard into the dresser, smashing several dishes. Swearing, he got to his feet and dived at Harry, jabbing his wand into the side of Harry's face. A bright light flashed like a flame before Harry's eyes. Snape jabbed again. Another flash. More jabs, each followed by its own firework.

The burning was easing, but something was squeezing Harry's throat, making his vision blur even more as precious oxygen was cut off from his lungs. His pulse throbbed loudly in his ears as everything started to blacken. The last thing he saw silhouetted against yet another blindingly bright flash was a hooded, white skeletal face, its dark eye sockets leering at him menacingly.

'Why did you leave that one till last?' Ron demanded angrily. 'You were hoping it would strangle Harry and kill him, weren't you?'

Harry opened his eyes in time to see a dark shape (Snape) make a sudden, angry movement, then pull up just as abruptly, as if he had been about to launch himself at Ron but thought better of it.

'That will do, Mr Weasley.' Dumbledore sounded extremely grave.

Harry squinted at the purple and white shape standing at the foot of the table. Groping his hand around, he tried to find his glasses, but then remembered that they had fallen off in the Chamber of secrets.

'It's all right, Harry; your spectacles are safe. Unfortunately, you shall not be able to wear them just yet.'

'Wha –?'

He felt around himself. He wasn't on the kitchen table anymore, but in a bed.

'Professor Snape moved you up to my bedroom,' said Dumbledore, pale eyes peering at him with concern. 'He felt you would be more comfortable after your ordeal.'

Snape's face darkened. Harry was pretty sure he hadn't been interested in easing any suffering.

'What happened?' he tried to ask but his mouth didn't work right. His face felt like it was caked with dried mud, pulling against his cheeks and lips as they tried to form words. He touched a hand to his face and it came away covered in deep blue sludge.

'Leave it!' ordered Snape. Squinting, Harry noticed a large pot of the blue substance standing on the bedside cabinet.

'The curse protecting the Horcrux hit you full in the face, Harry,' Lupin explained.

'I'm sorry, Harry.' Hermione sounded like she had been crying. 'It's my fault. I ducked.'

'So the Horcru–' Harry fought against the paste.

'The Horcrux is indeed hidden in the Chamber,' said Dumbledore. 'Your suspicion was correct. When Miss Granger tried to Summon Helga Hufflepuff's cup, the curse guarding it activated. Several tentacles sprouted from your face and started attacking you; one particularly enthusiastic one even attempted to strangle you.'

Harry raised a hand to his throat and discovered that it was bandaged.

'We got Fred and George to send over some Bruise ointment,' Ginny was standing next to a tall shape which Harry guessed was Ron.

'Do they –?'

'They are, as yet, unaware of the true situation,' said Dumbledore. 'You may rest easy on that score, Harry.'

'They think that I'm cleaning the place up in exchange for free accommodation. Very rough work,' added Lupin with a small grin.

Harry tried to grin back but the goop had definitely dried now and his face wouldn't move at all. He again reached up to touch his face but Snape stopped him. Before Harry could wonder what was going on, Snape had firmly gripped his fingers under the edges of the mud mask and pulled hard.

Harry felt like his face had been caught in the end of a vacuum cleaner.

Snape bared clenched teeth and pulled again. And again. Grunting, he fell against the bed as the mask finally came away with a very loud squelching sound.

Harry did several exercises, testing his face's ability to move once more. 'How bad do I look?' he asked the room at large.

'You look fine, Harry,' Lupin assured him. 'A little pale, but fine.'

'What do you mean "fine"? His face is all blotchy.' Ron sounded like he thought Harry might turn into a dangerous monster at any moment.

'Ignore him, Harry,' said Hermione. 'You just look like you're about to have an outbreak of pimples.' She sounded extremely relieved compared to how she had when Harry first regained consciousness and Harry took this to be a good sign.

'I hope you were paying attention, Weasley. Granger.'

Why did Snape always sound like he was in a classroom, Harry wondered as Snape unscrewed a jar filled with several cotton balls floating in an oily solution, then proceeded to wipe Harry's face with one of them before putting the jar on the table. Next, a large porcelain basin floated up from the floor and hovered just in front of Harry.

'Rinse.' The thin lips barely moved.

Harry scooped handfuls of cool water over his face, taking care not to splash the bedding.

'Properly!'

Harry gasped with shock, inhaling a lungful of water as Snape grabbed the back of his head and suddenly forced his face right into the bowl. He struggled as Snape's other hand roughly rubbed his entire face, then he was upright again, coughing and spluttering as Snape thrust a towel at him.

'I told you Snape was trying to kill Harry.' Ron took several angry steps towards Snape but Lupin pulled him back. 'First the tentacle, now drowning.'

'How was he trying to kill me with a tentacle?' asked Harry, spitting out a mouthful of water.

'He left the one that was strangling you till last. Probably hoping it would finish the job.' Ron continued to glare daggers at Snape.

'As I have already explained, Weasley,' Snape's voice was dangerously quiet, 'that tentacle was the anchor and, had I not destroyed it last of all, any other growths still on Potter's face would have remained there permanently. Or would you prefer your friend – ' (the lip curled) '– to walk around looking like an exhibit from Faumble's Fantastic Freaks?' Ignoring Ron's mutinous glare, Snape turned back as Harry was finally able to don the glasses Hermione handed him, and began packing the medicines he had used into a leather bag.

'You are to apply the masque once each day for the next week,' he instructed. 'It takes half an hour to dry, then it must be removed in one piece … I am certain such a task should not be beyond the abilities of even Weasley and Granger. You are then to bathe your face with one of the Puffskeins – there are just sufficient to last the week, so don't waste any – then rinse vigorously in fresh, clean water. If you use all of the masque before your treatment is complete, send Granger to fetch more. And take dittany. Four leaves every three hours.' He tossed a plant into the bag.

_x_

'Easy.' Both Hermione and Ginny held Harry up for a moment until his legs adjusted to the weight. A roaring cheer sounded in the distance.

'I don't believe it!' Harry looked towards the Quidditch stadium even though the castle blocked it from view. 'The match is still going.'

'Why wouldn't it be?' asked Ginny. 'We've only been gone an hour.'

Harry pulled up. 'Snape stopped a Voldemort curse from killing me in an hour?'

'And that's a bad thing why?' Hermione wanted to know.

'If he managed to fix me that quickly, then it means he knew the counter-curse, which means he knew all about the curse in the first place, which means he's definitely still working for –'

'Why aren' yeh lot watchin' the match?'

All four of them spun around. Hagrid was standing a few yards away, staring at them suspiciously.

'We were running through tactics,'' Ginny said boldly before Harry even had a chance to gulp guiltily. Ron's jaw started to drop but Hermione managed to kick his shin while Hagrid was gaping at Ginny.

'Ey?'

'Ron's been going over tactics with Ginny,' Harry held up the Firebolt. 'I was helping.'

'Bu' why weren' yeh at the game? An' what's with tha'?' Hagrid's suspicions increased as he jabbed a fat thumb at the Invisibility Cloak bundled in Ron's arms. Ron glanced down at the Cloak, his ears swiftly turning red.

'Er …'

'We didn't want anybody to see us,' Harry quickly said. 'These are _Gryffindor's_ tactics; the last thing we want is for _Slytherin _to find out. You know what they're like, they'll pinch our ideas. I mean, they're already mad that Ron got to fly a Firebolt against them. Do you really think they'd pass up the chance to stop us winning the Cup by telling the other teams what we've got planned so they know how to beat us?'

'You're not going to tell, are you?'

'It's meant to be secret, Hagrid.'

'We'll lose the Cup.'

'Hagrid,' Harry moved away from the others and beckoned so that Hagrid didn't really have much choice but to lean closer. 'Do this …' he whispered urgently. 'For Ron … _please_. You know what he's like. He's really good when he doesn't let his nerves get the better of him but the rest of the time he's … well … you know … well, he needs all the help he can get. And that's what I was doing. Helping him. Only, don't let him know that; he thinks it's because I miss being captain. We have to keep his confidence up somehow, don't we?' Harry winked conspiratorially.

To his relief, Hagrid started to chuckle and winked back, tapping his nose and patting Harry on the shoulder for good measure. Harry's knees buckled. Hagrid continued to laugh as he headed towards his hut.

'That was _brilliant_, Harry!' Hermione and Ginny burst into fits of giggles once Hagrid was out of earshot and didn't stop as they headed up to the castle.

'Why did you have to let him think I'm hopeless?'


	17. Chapter 17: The Basilisk

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN –**

**The Basilisk**

'There,' Hermione pointed halfway down the page. 'Read that.'

'What's he want with that book?' Ron eyed Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts: A History _disgustedly. 'You've been trying to get us to read it since first year. Give it a rest, OK?'

Hermione ignored him. 'Just read it,' she told Harry.

Harry glanced at the stack of fourth-year essays. He really should be getting stuck into them, but Hermione had yet to be wrong about something in this book. Sighing, he focused on the page.

'On the matter of discipline, Hogwarts has seen numerous trends come and go over the centuries, ranging from simple lines through to disembodiment. Numerous caretakers have taken it upon themselves to pick up what they viewed as a shortfall in school policy with regard to priorities – several Headmasters (see p. 174, 962, 2653) have considered that academic achievement was far more important that controlling adolescent exuberance, and that students learn to see the error of their ways through example, constructive criticism and applying themselves to beneficial tasks during detention. This has, at times, been at odds with the attitude of the caretakers in their employ, who have often demonstrated a malicious lust for cruelty and torture.

'Hogwarts' least popular Heads had a more medieval approach to discipline, which is possibly what made them so disliked. Forms of punishment approved and practiced under their directorship include the Cruciatus curse and the Sarcophagus of Ill Dreams (a personal favourite of Phineus Nigellus). Two things common to all of the Heads who favoured these more devastating disciplinary actions: they had all been Head of Slytherin House, and never once did they impose any punishments upon students from this House during their years in charge of Hogwarts.

'But the most severe punishments carried out during Hogwarts' long history occurred when the school was first established. Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts, was famous for demanding sacrifices from those who failed to measure up to his ideal: the donation of a part of themselves. Fingers seem to have been the most common offering –'

Harry broke off, his jaw dropping. _'Fingers?'_

'Surely you're not suggesting Harry cut off one of his fingers?' Ron stared at Hermione, horrified.

'Not a whole finger, no.' Hermione sounded hurt that Ron would believe such a thing.

'And only _part_ of a finger would work any better?' Ron threw back.

'It might.' Hermione bit her lip. 'If we do it right.'

'How's Harry supposed to remove only part of a finger? What's he gonna use – a fingernail?' Ron blinked as he realised what he had just said. 'Hey … that just might work.'

'I don't think so,' Harry chipped in. 'The way this reads, it sounds like it's going to have to be gruesome and cutting my nails wouldn't fit the bill.'

'I wasn't thinking of a nail,' said Hermione. Both Harry and Ron looked at her expectantly. 'I was thinking of a bone.'

'A bone?' Ron frowned.

'It's part of the human body and it can easily be regrown.'

'I wouldn't call regrowing bones easy,' said Harry. 'And anyway, when Lockhart removed my bones, it didn't hurt at all. I still don't think it will be enough.'

'It depends what spell you use. I'm sure Dumbledore would know something which will make it hurt like crazy.'

'If he doesn't, Snape will,' muttered Ron. Hermione ignored him.

Harry thought about this a moment and then said 'It's a plan. So, when do we run it by Dumbledore?'

'What, you don't want to go see him now?'

'It's late, Ron,' said Hermione.

'And besides,' added Harry, 'McGonagall has been watching me ever since she found out I've been sneaking out.'

'She doesn't know about Dumbledore's tomb, does she?' asked Ron worriedly.

'I don't think so,' Harry replied. 'But we need to be careful.'

'OK, so when do we tell him?'

'Hogsmeade visit's the weekend after next,' Hermione pointed out. 'You and I can swap with Polyjuice Potion, and I'll stay here and do your correcting for you. McGonagall will be busy watching me because she'll think you're still here, and you can go into Hogsmeade with Ron and Apparate to London from there.'

'McGonagall will know I didn't correct the essays because your handwriting is different to mine.'

'So use one of Fred and George's Forging quills. I've got some upstairs,' Ron offered.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'What have you got them for?'

'I've been writing love letters to Crabbe and Goyle –' (_'What?'_ yelped Hermione) '– and letting them think they're from anonymous Slytherin students.'

'Why?' asked Harry, throwing a quick glance at Hermione who looked like she was in shock.

'Distract them from us. They've been caught spying on us once already and so I decided to give them something to keep them too busy to keep it up.' Ron gazed at Hermione. 'I haven't been cheating on you, honest.'

With a visible effort, Hermione pulled herself together. 'And who have you been getting to help you?'

Ron's ears started to turn red. 'What do you mean?'

'You hate putting quill to parchment – you've spent six and a half years trying to get me to write your essays for you – so yeah, you must have had help with this.'

Ron continued to redden.

'_Ron?'_ growled Hermione.

'Don't go getting your wand all twisted; it wasn't anyone for you to get jealous over,' Ron protested testily, backing away from her. 'It was Ginny, OK.'

'_Ginny_?' Hermione looked like she felt she had been betrayed, Ginny not confiding in her.

'Ginny.'

The day of the next Hogsmeade visit dawned cold and clear. Thick clouds had spent the last few days dumping a couple of extra feet of snow over the landscape but they had now blown away, allowing the winter sun to burst into a million lights as it reflected and refracted on the virgin snow; Harry blinked against it as he wandered into Hogsmeade, hand in hand with Ron.

'Not yet,' muttered Harry as Ron went to let go.

'This is ridiculous,' Ron muttered back. 'Everybody's staring.'

'No one's taking the slightest bit of notice of us; they'd be staring if we _didn't _look like a young couple in love.'

Ron tried to pull away. 'You're not going to try and kiss me, are you? I'm a _male_!'

'You're the one who goes in for kissing males, not me.' Harry took another sip of Polyjuice from the flask Hermione had given him.

'_What?_ When have I ever –?'

'You kissed George the night you were attacked by that eagle. You were only just conscious and thought he was Hermione. Don't worry,' Harry grinned at his friend's horrified face. 'He forgave you for cheating on him with Hermione long ago.'

Ron swore.

'You're not acting like a loving couple.' Ginny came up behind them, grinning widely.

'Why aren't you with Neville?' Harry was surprised to see her alone.

'Seamus and Dean dragged him off to Honeydukes.'

'And you didn't go with them?' Ron glared at his sister for finding his discomfort amusing.

'He said he wanted to buy me something special – well, it is my birthday in two weeks – and it has to be a _surprise_.' She rolled her eyes. 'So, how are you getting to–?'

'I'm meeting Remus near the Hog's Head in fifteen minutes.'

'OK, if I were you,' Ginny gazed up the street, 'I'd cross over to the other side of the street. Wander up towards the Hog's Head _slowly, _stopping to check out what's in Gladrags and Scrivenshaft's windows, even press your nose against the glass at Scrivenshaft's because Hermione would definitely do that. Turn down the side street so if anyone sees you they'll just think you're going to Madam Puddifoot's, then keep going and come at the pub from behind.'

'Thanks.' Harry grinned at her.

'You're supposed to be in love with him, not me,' Ginny reminded him.

'What?'

'You were looking at me all lovey-dovey. Hermione wouldn't do that.'

'Haven't you got anything good to say about anybody?' Ron scowled at her. 'Come on, we're going to be late.'

'In love, remember,' she called after them.

'Yeah, yeah,' muttered Ron as he slouched up the street, both hands firmly in his pockets.

'You know, you two are going to have everybody thinking there's been another spat.' Lupin's eyes twinkled mischievously as Harry and Ron approached him.

'Oh, shut up!' Ron snapped at his former teacher. Lupin's brows rose.

'Ginny just gave us an assessment,' Harry explained as Lupin started to lead them away from the Hog's Head. They had just passed it when the side door opened. Lupin quickly grabbed Harry and Ron by the shoulders and forced them behind a row of dustbins.

'What is it?' whispered Ron as Lupin cautiously peered between the cans.

'It's all right.' Remus visibly relaxed. 'It's only Sybill.'

'What's she doing out of school?' wondered Ron. 'She hardly ever even comes downstairs.'

'Probably buying booze. She almost constantly smells of cooking sherry.' Harry screwed his nose up in disgust. They watched as she staggered around behind the building, then almost jumped out of their skins as the chill air was shattered by a scream and what sounded like several pieces of metal crashing into each other.

They exchanged puzzled glances. 'Perhaps she tripped over some dustbins,' Ron speculated.

'There weren't any,' said Lupin, puzzlement creasing his brow. He carefully crept out from their hiding place, Harry and Ron close behind.

'Where'd she go?' Ron gazed the length of the back alley, very free of anything, let alone dustbins and blind-drunk seers. 'She didn't have time to reach the other end.'

'Apparated?' Harry guessed. 'If she was drunk, maybe she got splinched.'

'Then where's the part she left behind?'

'Come on,' Lupin herded them back around the corner. 'That scream was loud. We'd better go before anybody else comes to investigate.'

'But what about Professor Trelawney?'

'I'm inclined to agree with Harry. She Apparated whilst drunk and, while she may not have splinched herself, it was probably still a rather unpleasant experience.'

Harry could relate to that. When _wasn't _Apparition an unpleasant experience? And with a head suffering the effects of alcohol …

But if the explanation of Professor Trelawney's disappearance was that simple, why did Remus glance back towards the Hog's Head as they Apparated to Grimmauld Place, a very worried expression on his pale face?

'I understand you have something important to tell me.' Dumbledore gazed at Harry importantly.

'Hermione thinks she might have worked out a way to get past the curse protecting Hufflepuff's cup.' Harry explained the idea inspired by Salazar Slytherin's cruelty.

'Interesting.' Dumbledore nodded slowly as Harry finished. 'It just might work. However, I would advise against using the Summoning Charm again to retrieve the cup, just in case Miss Granger's theory is incorrect.'

'Then how are we supposed to get it?' asked Ron. 'Hermione said it was too far down to just grab.'

'I would suggest using something which is the right size and shape to fit into the Horcrux's hiding place and which demonstrated a few years ago that it could quite happily come and go from that hiding place without any curses affecting it.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'You mean use a _Basilisk_?'

'You want to put one of those things back in the Chamber of Secrets?' cried Ron aghast.

'Only temporarily. Harry should have no difficulty both controlling and destroying it.'

'But –'

'I have every confidence in your abilities, Harry.' Dumbledore gave a small smile. 'Firstly, however, we shall need to grow a Basilisk and for that, we shall need the right ingredients. I believe that Mr Neville Longbottom owns a toad?'

'You want us to nick Trevor?' Ron looked like he was in the middle of a bad dream and Harry could fully sympathise.

'_Borrow_,' Dumbledore stressed. 'I would never encourage students to do anything illegal like steal.'

'But you're encouraging us to grow an illegal creature.' Harry couldn't see the difference.

'No,' said Dumbledore gravely. 'That shall be a task for Professor Snape. And concerning your belief that removing your bone shall need to be painful,' Dumbledore firmly steered the discussion away from Basilisks, 'I believe I know of just the spell for that job too; Severus should have little difficulty teaching Miss Granger to successfully perform it. The question, Harry,' he looked Harry squarely in the eye, 'is, are you prepared to endure the suffering it will inflict?'

'If it gets us that Horcrux, yes.' Harry returned the gaze unflinchingly.

Dumbledore continued to gaze into Harry's eyes a few more moments before nodding slowly, apparently satisfied with his understanding and acceptance of the task ahead. 'Then you have your instructions. And now, you had best return to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts before that flask runs dry.' The moustache twitched as he nodded at the Polyjuice bottle.

For over a week, Harry waited for an opportunity to ask Neville about Trevor but was unable to find a way to approach the matter which would see his former dorm mate handing over the toad willingly and without question. During one of their late night study sessions in Harry's room, Ron suggested that they might need to resort to stealing Neville's pet after all, but Hermione threatened to go to McGonagall if they tried it, stressing that Harry must be capable of acquiring Trevor by asking Neville or Dumbledore wouldn't have suggested it. Ron and Hermione were still arguing over Dumbledore's judgement as they finally headed off to their own rooms.

Harry was almost downstairs next morning when he heard someone swear. He stopped short. He'd heard Ron come out with language like that almost regularly for several years now but, since the voice had been a girl's, it wasn't Ron. Descending the few remaining steps, he was surprised to find Ginny sitting alone in front of the common-room fireplace, Errol collapsed in a heap on the table beside her.

Swearing again, Ginny tossed a letter into the fire then glanced up at Harry, a defiant look on her face, as if daring him to take off points.

'What's wrong with you?' yawned Ron as he followed Harry into the common room.

'Congratulations,' Ginny almost spat at her brother. 'You're going to be an uncle!'

Ron rubbed sleep out of his eyes. 'I'm going to be a … a _what_?' he almost squeaked as he registered what she had said.

Harry looked from Ron to Ginny. 'Fleur's going to have a baby?'

'Yeah!' Ginny slumped back into her chair. 'Mum's going to be disgusting!'

'What's wrong with you lot?' Hermione entered the common room half-hidden by a stack of books.

'Fleur's pregnant,' Harry explained.

'_What?'_ The books fell to the floor with a crash. 'Oh my God, oh my God –' Hermione was almost dancing on the spot. She grabbed a very startled Neville as he came through the doorway and spun twice around the room with him before he managed to break free and collapse dizzily into an armchair.

It was another few minutes before Hermione came back down to earth enough to gather up her books and almost float out through the portrait hole, Ron and Ginny disgruntledly trudging after her as their hunger won the battle with their horror at Mrs Weasley's news. Harry turned to follow them.

'Harry?'

He had forgotten Neville. He turned back.

'I was wondering if I could ask a favour?'

'Shoot.'

'I was wondering if you wouldn't mind giving me Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons,' Neville said in a rush, gazing almost pleadingly at Harry.

Harry stared at Neville, slightly stunned.

'Of course, if you don't want to,' mumbled Neville more slowly, disappointment dripping from every syllable, 'I'll understand.'

'It's not that,' Harry assured him. 'I was just trying to think when I could fit you in.'

Neville looked up hopefully.

'We'll have to be very careful how we do this,' continued Harry, an idea forming in his head. 'I'm not sure that McGonagall would approve ... I know Fulstrum won't … but it really has nothing to do with them, does it?' He grinned, please to see that Neville was almost sitting on the edge of his seat.

'There is just one thing, though …' Harry felt a twinge of conscience for treating Neville like this, but it needed to be done.

'Anything,' said Neville eagerly.

'Could I borrow Trevor, please?'

Neville blinked. 'Trevor?'

'Just for a few weeks.'

'What do you want him for?'

Harry shrugged non-committally. 'Just stuff. I'm sorry, Neville, I can't explain at all, but it is important.'

Neville looked undecided for a few minutes before reaching inside his robes. 'You'll take good care of him, won't you?' He gripped the toad tightly as it tried to make yet another bid for freedom.

Harry reached for Trevor but Neville still took several more moments to release him.

'I promise, Neville; Trevor will be fine,' Harry assured him, feeling terrible for lying to the one person whose faith in him had never wavered. He had no idea whether Trevor would be fine or if the Basilisk would promptly kill him when it hatched. Only time would tell.

Casting around for a different topic, he said, 'Will Wednesday night, seven-thirty, in the Room of Requirement do?'

As soon as it was safe to do so, Harry collected his Cloak and snuck down to Dumbledore's tomb via the kitchens, one of the last snowstorms of the season covering his tracks.

'Oh good, you brought an egg as well.' Dumbledore beamed as he accepted a squirming Trevor from Harry.

Harry frowned. 'I'm not sure I managed to pull that one off as smoothly as Trevor; I think Winky might have spotted my hand.'

'Hmm,' Dumbledore frowned slightly. 'Despite the early hour did Winky appear –'

'Was she drunk? When isn't she?' Harry screwed his nose up in disgust.

'There is no need to be disparaging, Harry,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'Never criticise anyone, whether man or beast, until you have walked a mile their shoes. For someone like Winky, the shame of dismissal was far more than she could bear and drowning herself in alcohol is the only way she has been able to numb the grief.'

Harry felt his face grow warm. Dumbledore had a painful way of poking the deepest wound, removing the crusted surface to expose the sensitive raw flash beneath.

'Now, if you would be so kind, Harry,' Dumbledore continued, his point made, 'would you please go to my room and fetch the nest which Professor Snape has prepared for our illustrious guest.' He rubbed his thumb along Trevor's back.

The nest wasn't at all what Harry had been expecting. While chickens preferred nests of straw, this nest was made of very sludgy mud and one large, solitary lily pad resting in one of the deep pots from the kitchen. Harry glanced from Trevor to the side of the pot as Dumbledore gently placed first the egg, then Neville's pet onto the centre of the lily pad, gauging whether it was high enough to prevent the toad escaping. To his surprise, Trevor settled down very happily, seemingly quite content with his new purpose in life. Harry just hoped that life would last beyond the task.

Satisfied that the toad was comfortable, Dumbledore reached inside his robes and removed a gold medallion on a chain. He passed it to Harry.

'I have taken a leaf out of Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy's books and decided this is the safest, most efficient way of letting you know when it is time to collect the Basilisk,' he explained as Harry examined the disk.

'Why don't you want to use Sirius?' asked Harry as he hung it around his neck.

'Because you are not in your office twenty-four hours of the day. Even Sybill Trelawney would not attempt to predict the time or day when that egg will hatch.' (Harry rolled his eyes) 'I may need to notify you while you are in the middle of a class, in bed or even in the bath.' The moustache twitched.

'And you want me to come here immediately?'

'Yes. It will be most imperative if we are to prevent the new-born Basilisk from turning Mr Longbottom's toad into its first meal.'

The next three weeks passed far too slowly for Harry. While winter continued to fight against the oncoming spring, Harry threw himself into his work, both teaching and studying, hoping it would help the time fly, but without luck. All he achieved was getting all of his correction and homework done as well as enjoying dreamless nights due to exhaustion; the medallion hanging against his chest got no warmer than his own body temperature.

On the last Friday in February, Harry was in the common room going over tactics with Ron for the match against Ravenclaw next day.

'You're going to need to keep the beaters as close to _aah_!'

Harry's hand shot up reflexively to rub his suddenly-burning chest. Ron exchanged a nervous glance with Hermione and Ginny studying in front of the fireplace. Unfortunately, they weren't the only ones who noticed.

'Are you OK, Harry?' Dean looked up from his Charms essay.

'That was my fault,' Ginny quickly volunteered. 'I was practicing a depilatory charm and missed.'

'You were practicing … what?' Seamus stopped in the middle of making his shoelaces tie themselves. Harry jumped up.

'Where are you going?' asked Dean.

'My office.' Harry worked hard not to sound distracted. 'Away from Ginny. I like my chest hairs just the way they are, thank you.'

He hurried out the portrait hole leaving Dean and Seamus blinking blankly at each other.

He made it to the top of the marble staircase before …

'Where are you going, Potter?'

Forcing the guilty look from his face, Harry turned to see McGonagall standing behind him. 'I was just going to visit Hagrid. I haven't really seen him in a while.'

'Don't you think it's a bit late for social calls?'

'It's the first chance I've had in ages, what with teaching, correcting, studying, after hours classes. I've finally got some free time now and I thought I'd take advantage of it before I get too busy again; I'm going to start drawing up the OWL practice exam after the match tomorrow –'

'All right, all right,' McGonagall held up a hand to stem Harry's rapid flow of words. 'You don't need to tell me how difficult it is for teachers to find time to relax. Very well,' she waved her wand towards the front door, unlocking it, 'I shall inform Mr Filch that you have leave to be out of bed. Just don't let Hagrid keep you out too late.'

_x_

'What took you so long, Potter? The headmaster contacted you five minutes ago.'

'I ran into Professor McGonagall,' Harry told Snape testily, his attention drawn to the muddy egg visible beneath Trevor's belly. Even though the drawing room was dimly lit, something yellow could be seen through a small crack.

'Don't look at it,' snapped Snape. 'That's its eye.'

'It's –?'

'Eye, yes.' Dumbledore was staying well out of the way, allowing Snape room to snatch Trevor to safety.

'But … how big …?'

'You've encountered a Basilisk before, Potter, you know how large the King of Serpents is. Or were the rumours of your … _conquest_ … untrue?' drawled Snape.

Harry glowered at him but refused to bite. He turned his attention back to the hatching egg.

'_Close your eyes_,' he told the snake. '_The light is too bright; its hurting your eyes_.'

Harry broke off and glanced around the room. The light _wasn't_ too bright; quite the opposite. He took his wand out and flicked it, instantly bathing the room in light so bright, it was almost blinding. The eye immediately squeezed shut.

'What do you think you're –'

'It's all right, Severus,' Dumbledore assured Snape. 'Harry knows what he's doing.'

'_That's it_,' crooned Harry to the terrified snake. '_Just a little bit further_.'

The crack spread, revealing a large slit. Harry frowned. The egg was still the same size it had been when he had commandeered it from the Hogwarts kitchens three weeks before but, judging by the size of the Basilisk's eye and nostril it was almost full size. How was that possible? There was no way it could fit.

But fit it did. The front end of the egg broke away and a scaly nose poked out. Trevor gave a startled croak but before he could do more than flex his leg muscles, he soared across the room under the influence of Snape's Summoning Charm.

'Is he OK?' Harry glanced up.

'Regrettably,' said Snape dryly, dark eyes flashing.

When Harry looked back down at the egg, he got a shock. The full front half of the egg was gone, probably hidden beneath the length of thick snake slithering over the edge of the nest, smearing mud over the rug. The eyes were still tightly shut against the light and nostrils twitched with curiosity at the strange unknown smells of its new environment. Its body stretched back four feet to where the rear half of the egg was jammed tightly over the wide girth which continued to flow forth from that impossibly small piece of shell. When it had reached twelve feet, the body thinned to a narrow tail which sent the remaining portion of egg smashing into the wall with a flick.

'_That's it, keep your eyes shut, no peek – Eurgh!_'

A bloodied rat landed in Harry's lap. He glared at Snape.

'Tell the Basilisk to eat it, Potter; it has been tainted with a Sleeping Draught. Then you shan't have to keep on with that insane hissing.'

Harry was so very tempted to tell the Basilisk to look Snape squarely in the eyes but, unfortunately, Dumbledore was watching. Fuming, he dangled the rat in front of the snake's nose.

'_Hungry, little one? No, keep your eyes shut, it's a surprise; you don't need to see to eat. Just smell. You'll hurt your eyes, remember_.' Harry kept up the 'insane' hissing as Snape looked more and more uncomfortable until the Basilisk curled into a tight coil, nostrils flaring softly and eyes relaxing from their tight squeeze.

Snape angrily thrust Trevor into Harry's arms but, for the most part, ignored Harry as he picked up the sleeping snake and forced its mouth open, touching his wand to each of its fangs. He then pointed his wand at a large bottle and thick white liquid streamed from the tip into it.

Turning to Dumbledore, he said, 'I should be going, Headmaster. Unfortunately, I shan't be able to return until Tuesday, but I have left sufficient potion for you.' He didn't wait for Dumbledore's wishes but gave a sharp nod before pushing past Harry, his eyes avoiding Harry's the whole time.

When Harry arrived back at Dumbledore's tomb, he found Ron waiting for him with his Cloak and Firebolt. Even though Ron was reluctant, Harry convinced him to fly both Trevor and the sleeping snake up to his room, assuring him that it would be completely safe until Harry could join him in a few minutes. Filch was waiting by the front doors but, thanks to McGonagall, couldn't do anything more than gripe about the inconvenience. Retrieving his broom and the still-slumbering Basilisk from a shaking Ron, Harry snuck down to Myrtle's bathroom under the Cloak.

'You're not breaking more school rules, are you?' Myrtle peeked out from her cubicle, smothering a fake yawn. 'What's that?' She eyed the lumpy sack Harry dropped at his feet.

'Nothing,' Harry squinted at the copper tap. '_Open up_.' He turned back as the sink lowered and found Myrtle's head buried in the sack. 'Hey, get out of –'

'It's a snake. A really big snake. Why have you_–_?'

'It's not a snake, it's a Basilisk.' Harry snatched the sack up and slung it over his shoulder.

'What's a Basilisk?'

Harry stared at her. 'You're kidding, right?' Myrtle stared back, confused. 'A Basilisk is the thing which killed you … the "great big yellow eyes"?'

Myrtle's eyes widened. 'You've got … you can't … I'll tell –'

'You can't tell, Myrtle,' said Harry urgently. 'It's a secret. You'll ruin everything.'

'I've already kept a secret for you and this is the thanks I get? Letting that thing loose in the school?'

'I'm not letting it loose in the school; I'm hiding it down there.' He pointed at the gaping hole in the middle of the floor. 'And it won't be coming back out, believe me.'

'But –'

'Look' said Harry angrily, 'if you try to tell, I'll wake the Basilisk up and get it to stare at you.'

'Won't work,' said Myrtle. 'I can't die again.'

'No, but you can still be affected. Remember what happened to Nearly Headless Nick five years ago?'

That frightened her. 'You … you wouldn't … _Murder!_' she screamed at the top of her lungs as she dived into her toilet with a splash, no doubt going to fetch Filch or McGonagall.

Harry swore. Grabbing the drugged serpent out of the sack, he held it over the top of the tunnel and let go, mentally crossing his fingers that it wouldn't be killed on the way down. He just managed to pull his Invisibility Cloak over his head as he heard footsteps hurrying along the corridor before Filch burst in.

'What –? It was right here.' Myrtle floated through Filch. 'He –'

Harry didn't hear the rest. He snuck out the open door as Filch gasped and sputtered loudly, thankful that the sink had risen into place in time. Once he was safely at the end of the corridor, he picked up his pace, galloping up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. He then flew around to Ron's bedroom window where the Head Boy let him in, and had just jumped into his own bed when there was a knock on the door. Harry finished buttoning up his pyjamas as he crossed the room.

'Professor?' Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily. 'What are you doing here? Do you know what time–?' He smothered a yawn.

'May I come in, Potter?'

Harry forced his brow into a confused crease as he stepped back to allow Professor McGonagall entry. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the slept-in bed and Firebolt stored neatly in the corner.

'Mr Filch has just woken me with some ridiculous story. He claims that you were very recently in the disused girls' bathroom on the second floor with, of all things, a Basilisk.'

'Disused girls …?' Harry feigned confusion. 'Oh, do you mean Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?'

'So you admit you were there?' McGonagall stared at him hard, a very disapproving look on her face.

'No,' Harry willed his face not to redden. 'Mr Filch let me back in about –' he checked his watch '–' half an hour ago and I came straight here. I was going to get some reading done but I must have dozed off.' Harry pointed at his Transfigurations textbook lying open on the floor beside his bed. 'I'm surprised Filch isn't dead to the world too; he was yawning his head off when I came in.'

McGonagall continued to stare at Harry as if trying to determine the truth of what he just said. His stomach plummeted as her lips thinned.

'Very well, Potter; I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I shall speak with Mr Filch and recommend he gets a Dreamless Sleep potion from Professor Slughorn. And might I suggest that, in future, when I tell you not to let Hagrid keep you up too late, you do as you are told.'

'Yes, Professor.' Harry couldn't believe he was getting off so lightly, although he kept his expression sober until McGonagall had closed the door behind her. With a quiet sigh of relief, he slumped against his bed and pulled his Invisibility Cloak from under his pillow.


	18. Chapter 18: Vaulted Chambers

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN –**

**Vaulted Chambers**

Harry sat with Ron and Hermione at breakfast next morning so they could quietly go over last-minute plans. While both of his friends had no trouble eating their way through a hefty breakfast, Harry found his appetite completely diminished, partly by the reality of what faced him starting to hit home, and partly by the sight of McGonagall deep in conversation with Hagrid up at the teacher's table. And then, as they were about to leave, Harry's worst fears were confirmed.

'Potter, I'd like a word with you, please, in my office. Move along there, Weasley.'

Ron threw Harry an uncertain look before being dragged away by Hermione.

'What took you so long?' asked Ron when Harry finally made it to Myrtle's bathroom. The instant Harry walked in he jumped up from where he and Hermione had been sitting under the sink which marked the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione had several books spread open in front of her and Harry suspected she had been going over Ron's homework with him. It would certainly explain Ron's eagerness to put distance between the two of them.

'I only just got away from McGonagall. She found out I didn't really visit Hagrid last night and went nuts again because I won't tell her what I'm really up to.' He blew his breath out in a disgruntled huff as he slumped back against the door, then frowned as he noticed someone missing. 'Where's Ginny?'

'Staying as far away from here as she possibly can.' Hermione finally looked up from the book she had been almost wiping her nose on. 'You didn't really expect her to be anywhere near either the Chamber or a Basilisk, did you? So, are you ready?' she rushed on before Harry could say anything.

He tried to make his nod as firm as he could as he struggled to bring his nerves under control.

'Then let's do it.' All business, Hermione rolled her sleeves up and began removing items from her bag while Ron fetched the Firebolt from the end cubicle. Harry made sure his wand and Sirius's mirror were securely tucked away inside his robes. He gazed down at the jumble of items surrounding Hermione.

'Er …'

She glanced up.

'You might want to clear that stuff away. The entrance to the Chamber covers half of where you are, remember?'

More minutes were wasted as the mess was shifted to the far end of the bathroom, then Harry peered at the scratched snake (_'Open up!'_), once again forcing the sink to lower into the floor. He then curled all the fingers of his left hand into a tight fist and slowly straightened his little finger.

Hermione consulted her books one more time. Reaching for a silver flask, she dipped a tiny metal scoop into it and splashed several drops of liquid over Harry's finger.

The skin started to grow warm, puckering in small blisters before their eyes. Harry bit his lip hard.

Hermione then held her wand three inches above Harry's hand and traced a complicated pattern through the air … once, twice, three times.

The pain increased. Harry pressed his lips tightly together but it still didn't stop his throat crying out, even if it was muffled.

Hermione then began to sing, repeating the ancient Welsh words Snape had taught her. Her voice was actually quite good, but Harry was a little preoccupied to really give it much thought.

Just as Hermione sang the last notes, Harry's attempts to mute his cries failed completely and he screamed, his finger feeling like someone had just ripped it from the joint connecting it to his hand.

Unfortunately, he attracted Myrtle.

'What are you lot getting up to this time?' She looked from Ron's anxious face to Harry's pain-wracked one to the blood-covered bone Hermione was holding.

'MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!'

Even though it was Sunday morning (a time traditionally devoted to sleeping in), numerous footsteps were still to be heard rapidly beating a loud advance in their direction.

'Nice one, Myrtle!' Ron tried to bar the door.

'You'd better go, Harry.' Hermione quickly forced the broom, bone and a wriggling sack into Harry's arms and pushed him towards the dark hole where the sink had stood.

'Go! Just go!'

Harry got one last brief glimpse of both Ron and Hermione's anxious faces, then the floor rushed up past his head.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Harry bumped swiftly down the pipe, unsure just where he would encounter the Basilisk and silently praying that the rooster still struggling to get out of the sack wouldn't get its neck broken before he got there. The pain in his little finger throbbed intensely each time he banged against the pipe's slimy walls. Struggling to keep his wits about him, he finally slid out the end of the pipe and landed with a crunch on a pile of rat bones.

Panting heavily, Harry just lay there for several minutes, trying to catch his breath. The rooster continued to flap against his chest and a small wave of relief rippled through him that the bird was still alive. Keeping his eyes closed, he stretched his ears for any sound which might indicate that the Basilisk was close by, but all he could hear were the muffled sounds of the rooster's struggles and his own heartbeat.

Cautiously, he opened one eye a tiny crack. Nothing appeared to be moving in his line of sight and Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened that there was still a chance the Basilisk could sneak up on him. Rolling painfully onto his front (and suppressing yet another scream), he tried to push aside the skeletons digging into his flesh …

He stopped and snatched up one of them. It wasn't dry and brittle like most of the other bones; it was still slightly moist and held together by thin strips of sinew. This rat had only recently been eaten.

Glancing around, Harry could see a trail of similarly freshly-eaten carcasses stretching away from him and knew not only had the Basilisk managed to make it this far, but it had begun to explore its new environment, appeasing its appetite along the way.

Getting shakily to his feet, he made sure he had everything, slung the rooster's bag around his neck, picked up his broom and very slowly started to crunch his way through the trail of recently-deceased rodents.

'_Where are you, little one? Have you got your eyes shut?_' Harry listened carefully for a reply, but the only thing to be heard was his own hissing echoing through the empty tunnels. Each bend he came to brought a rush of tense anxiety as he repeated his questions, anxiety which did not diminish as he still received no reply.

By the time he came to the last bend before the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, Harry's panic had reached fever-pitch. Had the Basilisk imitated the Chamber's former tenant and slithered into the plumbing branching out through the rest of the school? Peering very carefully around the corner, he froze. While there was still no sign of the Basilisk, he had something slightly more worrying to concentrate on.

The Chamber of Secrets was open.

Harry gaped at the empty space before him. How had the walls come to be parted? Had the Basilisk managed to tell them to open? Cold shivers competed with his throbbing finger as he gazed through the opening to the green-glowing room beyond. Nothing seemed to be moving. Still fighting against his mounting fears, he crept forwards into Hogwarts' darkest hall.

Trying to notice a live snake amongst all the stone ones was made difficult by the odd light; every snake entwined around the massive pillars seemed to be moving. Harry's blurring vision wasn't helping either. As soon as he had crossed the threshold into the Chamber of Secrets, the pain in Harry's finger had burst up his arm, almost making him faint.

'_Where are you, little one? Come out, come out, wherever you are._' Harry felt silly acting like he was playing hide-and-seek, especially when it was becoming harder to concentrate which each passing second. He didn't have time to keep an eye on the shadows while also trying to keep his eyes squinted so narrow he could only just see. All he wanted was to get the Horcrux and get out of here so Madam Pomfrey could start to regrow the bone in his finger and make the pain stop. _Where was that snake?_

It was slow, painful going but he finally reached the far end of the chamber and gazed up at the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin, looking comical with Hermione's rope ladder still hanging off its nose. Harry bit his lip. Was the Basilisk _really_ necessary? If the bone did its job with the curse, why shouldn't the Summoning Charm work? And even if it didn't, he was forewarned; he could easily duck. He steadied himself against another wave of pain.

'_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._'

Slowly, the stone mouth opened, wider and wider, the gaping black hole hungry for an offering.

And Harry certainly had something to offer.

Awkwardly clambering up the ladder one-handed, Harry dug the bloodied bone out of his robes and, crossing the fingers of his right hand, threw it down Slytherin's throat. There was a bright flash of light and Harry screamed. All of the bones were being ripped from his fingers, covering him in blood as he fell from the ladder and crashed into the stone floor, hard.

'_Mother?_'

Harry tried to remember where he was and why he was there. There had to be a reason. There was certainly a reason why the voice which just said 'Mother' was familiar. He screwed his eyes shut against another wave of excruciating pain.

'_Mother?_' The voice was more desperate this time, as if its mother was in peril. But the only person who seemed to be having problems was himself. Why would the voice call _him_ 'Mother'?

The pain eased fractionally, the initial fire burning down to a steady glow. Harry blinked back tears he hadn't realised he'd shed and noticed movement to his right. A gigantic snake was slithering towards him.

'_Are you hurt?_'

Harry frowned. The snake just spoke to him.

'_Are you hurt?_'

Why would a snake ask if he was hurt? Couldn't it tell just by looking at him? Didn't it have eyes in its head?

Eyes … snake eyes.

Quickly, Harry squeezed his own eyes shut. '_No, no; I'm fine,_' he tried to reassure the Basilisk.

'_You don't look fine._'

'_Don't look at me!_' Harry struggled not to scream; it would only alarm the serpent.

'_But _–'

'_I said DON'T LOOK AT ME!_' Harry could almost feel the Basilisk brushing against him, it was so close. He tried to take a few steadying breaths. '_If you want to help me, you can crawl into the hole in the face on the wall._'

'_The face on the wall?_' The Basilisk seemed to be quivering just in front of his head. Harry risked opening an eye a fraction; the Basilisk had raised its head a few feet and was gazing up at Slytherin, swaying slightly. _'Why do you _–?'

'_DON'T LOOK AT ME!_' Harry swiftly buried his face in his arms as the serpent glanced back down at him. '_I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell. I just need you to do exactly as I say._' He was finding it hard to remember that the massive snake was a day-old baby.

'_What do you want me to do?_'

'_Crawl into the hole in the wall. At the bottom of the hole, there's a cup. I need you to get the cup and bring it out here._'

'_What's a cup?_'

'_Just bring me the thing inside that hole._' Harry found it difficult trying to make the Basilisk understand; maybe they should have waited until it was older.

He felt the serpent move past him and risked another peek. To his amazement and elation, the Basilisk was doing as requested. He opened both eyes just as the tail disappeared over the edge of the stone lip. Slytherin's mouth started to close.

'_Don't panic,_' Harry cried as the Basilisk did just that, its scream echoing around the chamber. '_I'll get it open again. Just get that cup._'

Harry glared up at the ugly monkey-like features. '_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_.'

The Basilisk's cries echoed from within the statue again as the mouth reopened. '_Why? Why did you do that? I was frightened; I thought I would never see you again._

'_I'm sorry._' Harry watched the mouth for signs of movement. '_I didn't do that, the statue did, but it's OK now. You won't get hurt again; I promise._' Harry felt a twinge of guilt as he fumbled with the cord tying the rooster's bag. '_Did you get the thing I asked for?_'

'_Yes_.' The reply was very muffled and Harry realised the snake probably had the cup in its mouth. Taking out Sirius's mirror, Harry placed it on the ground and pressed his wand against it.

'_When you get to the opening_,' Harry instructed the serpent, '_drop the cup down here. You'll find it easier to move then._' It would also let Harry know when the cup was no longer inside Slytherin's mouth without having to look up and risk catching the Basilisk's eye. He folded the sack down, exposing the rooster's head just as something metal crashed to the floor. The rooster started.

'I'm sorry,' whispered Harry as a soft light glowed from the mirror, growing brighter with each word of the Sunrise spell.

'COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOO!' The rooster greeted the dawn, proudly declaring to the chamber that a new day had begun.

Angrily, Harry pulled the bag back up over its head and twisted the cord around the top as the rooster continued to struggle against its captor. 'Oh, shut up!' he snapped at it as he picked up Helga Hufflepuff's cup, a new wave of pain washing over him.

But the pain from the missing bone and numerous bruises was nothing compared to the heart-wrenching agony of the sight of the Basilisk's dead body hanging out of Slytherin's mouth like a great tongue. Blinking back more tears, Harry mounted the Firebolt and kicked off.

Go ... just a little bit further … almost there. Harry egged his broom onwards, every second taking him further from Slytherin's chamber. A small light appeared high above him. Almost there. With a glorious warm rush of relief which dulled the pain for a moment, Harry burst from the pipe under the sink and collapsed onto the cold tiles, still clutching his Firebolt tightly.

'_Harry!'_

Ron and Hermione rushed forwards to help him to his feet. Hermione prised the cup from his grasp and quickly hid it in her robes but Harry didn't care that he didn't have it anymore. Leaning heavily on Ron's shoulder, he panted as he tried to bring his heartbeat down to a more normal speed.

'Would you please explain yourself, Potter?'

Harry cracked his eyes open a fraction and saw a pair of shiny shoes. He forced his head up.

Professor McGonagall's eyes were narrow slits, her lips the thinnest Harry had ever seen and her nostrils flaring with each angry breath. Beside her, Fulstrum had his wand pointed at Harry, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Behind them, Harry could see Ginny and Neville looking frightened and Myrtle was crying disappointedly in the end cubicle, though it was punctuated by occasional giggles of delight.

'Why do you have to keep coming back alive? I'm _lonely_; I want a friend. (Very loud sniff). 'You're always coming out of there alive. I want a _friend_!' (More overdone tears.)

'Be quiet, Miss – er …'

Harry felt a dull twinge of satisfaction at Fulstrum's inability to address Myrtle like a proper gentleman.

'It doesn't hurt to be killed by a Basilisk, you know.' Myrtle giggled.

'SHUT UP!' roared Fulstrum. 'Now, Potter, are … to answer the headmistress's question or …'

Something was wrong with Harry's ears. Fulstrum's voice kept fading in and out. Could severe pain affect your hearing?

'… arrest for …'

Something hit Harry's shoulder hard and he clenched his teeth together against the increased pain.

'_Longbottom, where on earth did you learn …_'

Harry tried to focus on McGonagall's voice but the next wave of pain was too much. He had a feeling he might have screamed but he sank into blissful cool darkness before he could ask anyone.

_x_

Harry was back in the Chamber of Secrets. No, that wasn't right; this chamber was different. Even though the Chamber of Secrets was extremely vast, this place was even bigger, helped along by the bright light which filled every part of the immense space. He tried to see the ceiling, but it was too high up, lost in a glow so bright, it was like looking into the sun at close range.

Blinking against its blinding strength, Harry waited for the white spots to dissolve from his vision, then inspected the rest of the room.

For the most part, it seemed to be empty. In the distance Harry could see walls of dark grey stone similar to that which made up Hogwarts' sturdy structure, but he had never seen this room – either at school or on the Marauders' Map. Arches were carved into the walls, too many to count, so that it looked a little like the Coliseum. The thought did cross his mind that he might be in the Room of Requirement, but since that room only adopted the form required by its user (and Harry couldn't imagine conjuring up a room like this even in his wildest dreams), this possibility didn't seem very likely. The floor was solid marble which, despite the chamber's vastness, seemed to absorb the sound of Harry's footsteps rather than make it echo noisily around him.

To each side and in front of him were three tombs with massive statues stretched along their lengths like sleeping guardians. Wandering over to the nearest, Harry gazed at it curiously.

A young woman of extraordinary beauty lay before him, stone hands folded upon her breast. Even though there was no carved lettering anywhere on the tomb to identify either who she was or when she had died, the style of the robes and headdress suggested that she had been here for close to a thousand years, even though there wasn't any dust. Something about her finely chiseled brow told Harry she had been quite intelligent when she had been alive and the slight quirk to her lips implied that, even in death, there were still things she knew which nobody else did.

Harry reached out a hand to assure himself that it really was a statue; the detail of her face, especially, made her appear as though she was merely resting, her eyes ready to flutter open any moment. The stone was warm beneath his fingers. His surprise turned to puzzlement as he felt what seemed to be scratches on her shoulder. On closer inspection, he discovered rough notches carved into the hard surface, as if by bird claws. Perhaps she had once owned an owl.

The second tomb detailed a middle-aged woman who certainly didn't approach the first for looks. Plain and quite well rounded, there was a roughness about her which reminded Harry of Professor Sprout. She even had calloused hands, suggesting a life spent dealing with hard tasks and Harry felt that, whoever she was, she had been able to handle anything which life had thrown at her. The girdle carved around her plump waist resembled a chatelaine, for it was hung with several gardening tools, a small dagger and a large spoon, as well as a small hook, almost as though something was missing. Like her companion, there was no clue to her identity.

The last statue reminded Harry of Dumbledore. An ancient wizard with waist-length hair and beard, deep wrinkles carved into his face and hands and an unmistakable air of authority, Harry knew (though he didn't know how) that this man had once been the chief figure in the region, the one to whom others had turned for advice, assurance and protection. This statue also seemed to have something missing; there was a space between his clasped hands which suggested he had once been holding something. There was, however, something upon the statue's person which shouldn't have been there: a tiny scrap of soft, dark, frayed fabric caught behind one of the stone ears.

Beyond this tomb, three marble steps led up to a small platform upon which stood a single chair of gold, carved with ancient runes and upholstered in rich deep scarlet velvet. It looked like a throne and Harry wondered if the wizard lying at its feet had perhaps been a king. There was certainly a nobility about the lines of his stone face.

But none of this was getting Harry any closer to solving the mystery of where he was or why he was here. He turned his attention to the doors. From what he could see, they seemed to be the only way in or out; the arches certainly didn't lead anywhere. Two massive doors, even larger than the ones leading into Hogwarts, stretched towards the ceiling. Ornate carving also decorated their surface, depicting numerous magical beasts: dragons, griffins and phoenixes, as well as, mystifyingly, a single badger peeping up from the lower edge. Harry pressed an ear against the wood and knocked; as well as being solid timber, it also seemed to be quite thick, ruling out the possibility of kicking it down.

He examined the lock. It was extremely small, far too small to hold such gigantic doors even closed, let alone locked. But locked they were. Without the key, there was no getting through them.

Not that someone hadn't tried, judging by the three holes which had been drilled around the keyhole in a triangular pattern. Peering closely at the holes, Harry saw that somebody had scratched a tiny letter next to each one: G, H and R. He frowned. Did this place have something to do with –'

A deep voice, which made the floor vibrate with its resonance, echoed across the chamber, causing Harry to almost jump out of his skin.

Spinning around, he saw that all three statues had woken and were sitting up on their tombs, looking at him. He was pretty sure it was the wizard who had spoken. For several minutes, Harry stared at them and they stared back, tension sparking the silent air around them. Then the wizard spoke again.

Harry didn't understand a word.

'Er … I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Do any of you speak English?

The plump witch addressed him next. She also was speaking in a language which Harry didn't know, but he thought a couple of words sounded like 'hollow ground.' More confused than ever, he backed up against the doors as each of the statues stood and started to approach him. All three were almost shouting now. Harry couldn't understand more than one word in ten but, whatever it was they were trying to tell him, they certainly seemed very passionate about it.

They had almost reached him when the wizard slapped himself over the head, sending stone chips flying everywhere. He then thrust his hand forwards at Harry, who ducked, thinking the statue was going to punch him in the face. When he opened his eyes he saw that the male statue was offering him a ragged bundle of dark cloth.

It was the Sorting Hat.

Harry gazed uncertainly up at the statues. Anxiety, almost pleading, was carved into each face. Nervously, he reached for the hat then, as the beautiful witch nodded encouragement, he slowly put it on his head, though not all the way down; he still didn't trust this bunch enough not to keep an eye on them.

'Canst thou comprehendeth that which I speaketh now, lad?'

It was like watching a badly-dubbed foreign film. In front of him, Harry could see each of the statues' mouths moving, but they weren't quite in sync with the Sorting Hat's voice beside his ear.

'Good, now harken with care,' the wizard instructed. 'Thou needst fetch the key.'

'What key?'

'What ist thy meaning, "what key"? Why, my good man, the key which dost open that door.' The plump witch pointed behind Harry.

'Yeah, I know; I can't get out,' said Harry. 'So where's the key?'

Both witches blinked with surprise, as though Harry had said something he shouldn't. The tubby one turned to the wizard.

'Didst I hear aright? Is this lad not thy –'

'It ist most plain that which I didst speak was truth; he wouldst not be here, else!' the wizard snapped impatiently. The witch bristled.

'There ist no need –'

'Wilt thou not cease thy battle? Thou art like a pair of crups. There art matters of import to convey.' The other witch glared at both of them disapprovingly.

'We art not engaged in battle!' Both combatants rounded on her.

'Thou art for cert not indulging in debates of intellect,' she muttered, 'As well, thou art filling the boy with terror.'

Neither of them seemed to know how to reply to that. They just stood glaring at each other, the tension in the air building like distant thunder.

'Oh, this is ridiculous. Just tell them to get on with what we came for!'

'Art thou daring to give commands to thy betters?' The wizard was now glaring at Harry.

'That wasn't me,' cried Harry defensively. It was true; the Hat had said it. As well as acting as interpreter, it was apparently still capable of independent thought and was muttering instructions in his ears, though how the wizard heard, Harry didn't know. But the Hat did have a point.

'So where's the key so I can get out of here?' It wasn't easy keeping his voice steady in the face of such powerful-looking visages.

'What canst thou meaneth by thy words?' The wizard frowned. 'Thou doth needst draw evil _within_ this hall.'

'Evil?'

'The evil which dost brew beyond those doors.' The wizard pointed at the door. 'Thou needst to imprison it within these walls.'

'For surety, canst thou not feel its approach?' The slim witch gazed at Harry with those intelligent eyes.

'Yeah, but –' How did this lot, who had been hiding here for who knew how long, know about Voldemort?

'That dost settle the matter.' The plump witch gave a nod of satisfaction. 'The lad shalt recover the key and restore it to its housing.' Turning, she led the others back to the tombs where they all lay down once more as if settling for the night.

Harry felt like he had been trampled beneath their stone feet. They still hadn't told him how he was supposed to get out of here. Snatching the Sorting Hat from his head, he threw it angrily to the ground.

'WHERE'S THE KEY?'

_x_

'For naught shalt guard against the broken –'

Harry tried to open his eyes. Bright light stabbed through to his brain, making him moan as pain pounded his head. The voice which had been speaking in a rhythmic manner, broke off suddenly.

'Harry?'

There it was again, only now it sounded uncertain. Harry tried to focus. He knew that voice; he was sure it sounded familiar. Female, so it definitely wasn't the Sorting Hat. It also sounded much younger than the statues who had just been shouting at him. Was there someone else in here with them? Was it the danger? And what was the broken thing which 'naught' would guard against?

Feeling more confused than he had been since he first arrived in this chamber, Harry tried again to open his eyes.

This time the light didn't stab quite so sharply at his brain. He tried to focus, but everything was blurry; his glasses must have fallen off when he fell down.

Harry thought about that a moment. He was lying flat on his back, on something soft, and he wasn't wearing his glasses anymore … so he must have fallen. He just didn't have any memory of it.

Groping around for his glasses, he felt someone press them into his hand. Harry's heartbeat thumped even faster. Who was in here with him?

'Well, go on; put them on.'

Male, this time. Harry felt he knew that voice too. Determined to solve this mystery (and trying to ignore the ache in his head), he put his glasses on and the hospital wing came into focus.

Harry glanced uncertainly from Hermione, who had a large ancient book resting on her lap, to Ron, who was helping himself to a chocolate frog from what looked like half the contents of Honeydukes piled on the end of Harry's bed.

'How did I get here?'

'You collapsed in Myrtle's bathroom.' Hermione closed her book.

'How did I get there?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged anxious glances.

'Don't you remember going down to the Chamber of Secrets?' Ron asked around a mouthful of chocolate.

Harry screwed his eyes shut in concentration. 'No … it wasn't the Chamber of Secrets. It was definitely a different chamber. It –'

He tried to push himself up into a sitting position and noticed that the little finger of his left hand felt strange. Bringing it up level with his face, he saw that it looked like a finger from a rubber glove and wouldn't move when he flexed the other fingers, almost as if –

'Madam Pomfrey couldn't give you Skelegro while you were unconscious, but now you're awake, you'll be able to grow those bones back again.' Hermione sounded apologetic.

Harry barely noticed though. He squeezed his eyes tight shut against the flood of images exploding from his memory – Hermione de-boning his finger, the Basilisk wanting to look at him, Slytherin's gaping mouth, crowing rooster, Fulstrum –

'Did I get the –'

'It's fine!' hissed Hermione, making Harry jump as she suddenly clamped her hand over his mouth. Ron glanced anxiously towards Madam Pomfrey's office. 'Our old friend has got it. It's safe, OK?' Hermione waited for Harry to nod his understanding before removing her hand.

Able to breathe again without hindrance, Harry glanced longingly towards the food Ron had been hoeing into. Stomach rumbling loudly, he realised he was starving. He also noticed, from the rays shining through the hospital windows, that it was sunset.

'Have I been out for a whole day?'

Ron made a sound somewhere between surprise and smugness.

'You've been out for nearly two weeks, Harry.' Hermione's expression was fully of pity.

'_What?'_

'_Shhh!'_ Hermione tried to settle Harry back down onto his pillows.

'Two _weeks_?' gasped Harry, trying to struggle upright. 'I can't have been asleep for that long … I'd have known,' he argued ridiculously.

Hermione's expression changed again – this time to dubious disbelief. 'And how, exactly, would you have managed that?' Her hands were on her hips. 'You were _unconscious_!'

'But I see you're not unconscious anymore.'

Harry felt a jolt of surprise as he gazed at the newcomer striding along the row of beds towards them. 'What are you doing here?' He grinned for the first time in, well, nearly two weeks.

'Filling in for you.' Lupin leant against the bed next to Harry's.

Harry felt his grin start to fade as more confusion washed over him. 'Er … didn't Umbridge get Fudge to pass a law a few years ago banning people from hiring …?'

'Werewolves,' Lupin finished for him. 'You can say it, it's not a swear word.' He smiled slightly as Harry's face grew hot. 'Yes, the Ministry passed anti-werewolf legislation banning us getting jobs but, firstly, McGonagall isn't paying me and, secondly, it's not a job. It's a favour.' He glanced up as Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office with a bottle of Skelegro. 'Anyway, I've got a date with a pile of third-year essays. You take care, all right.' With a nod, he pushed off from the bed, forestalling anything Madam Pomfrey might have said to him.

'We'd better get going too, Harry,' said Hermione as Ron started stuffing his pockets from the sweet stack.

'Why?' Ron looked taken aback by this suggestion.

'Those essays for Potions, Charms and Transfigurations.' Hermione glared at him over the diminishing pile.

'Do you have to go?' Harry felt like he was being deserted.

'You have bones to regrow, Mr Potter.' Madam Pomfrey brandished her bottle.

'Can't I have dinner first?' Harry eyed the bottle nervously. 'I haven't eaten for nearly two weeks. I'm starving.' His gaze drifted hopefully to the end of the bed.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look pleased at the prospect of having her nursing schedule interrupted. She fumed silently by the bed for several moments before finally relenting.

'Fine. But you'll have something a lot healthier than that lot.' She waved her wand and the sweets vanished (Ron groaned softly), replaced by a bed tray and a large plate of lamb's fry, steamed broccoli, carrots and pumpkin.

Disappointment coursing through him at the sudden change of fare, Harry pulled the tray closer.

'Don't worry, mate.' Ron leaned close so Madam Pomfrey wouldn't hear him as she went around the ward, closing curtains and lighting candles. 'I've still got this lot.' And he opened his pockets, allowing Harry to see the stash of sweets he'd managed to rescue. Feeling a lot better knowing there would be a reward at the end of all of this, Harry started attacking the plate of liver.

'So, what's been happening since … you know?' he asked, chewing between words.

'Gryffindor lost three hundred points,' said Ron flatly. 'Fulstrum was real –'

'Ron, I think Harry means slightly more important matters than House points,' interrupted Hermione. Harry almost choked on his dinner; he'd never heard Hermione say something was more important than winning points.

'What –? Oh … right … that.' Ron seemed very interested in the railing at the foot of the bed.

'What?' Harry didn't like the pall which seemed to have suddenly descended upon them. His feeling of trepidation increased as Hermione glanced up at him but refused to meet his eyes.

'Professor Trelawney is dead.' Hermione spoke so quietly, Harry took a moment to realise what she had said.

Harry's fork clattered as it fell from his slackened grip. 'How?'

'She was found behind the Hog's Head Inn, so the Ministry think she was drunk, fell and hit her head, but … other people … think she was tortured to death. Someone said Voldemort had kidnapped her and was trying to get information out of her,' Hermione glanced around nervously to check if Madam Pomfrey could hear, 'but … someone else … said not to stop him or it would look suspicious.'

Ron was staring at her. 'You know, I know what you're talking about and I'm confused by what you just said. How's Harry meant to understand it?'

'It's OK, Ron.' Harry gazed at Hermione. 'Are you saying he ordered him not to help her?'

Hermione nodded.

'Did Voldemort get what he was after?'

Hermione shrugged. 'We don't know. We don't think so or he'd be a lot happier, but we don't know for sure.'

Harry thought about how he felt about this news as he resumed chewing. He wasn't sure if he was being slightly mean or not when he decided he wasn't overly unhappy about Professor Trelawney being dead. As a teacher, she'd been both a disaster and a joke and Harry hadn't learnt a thing from her. Then there was her prowess (or lack of) as a seer. For the most part she had been an old fraud. But she did accurately predict the 'lightning-struck tower' and Wormtail's escape. And there was the prophecy she made about Harry. It was for this reason that Harry couldn't feel mournful. If Professor Trelawney hadn't told Dumbledore that prophecy, Snape wouldn't have had anything to tell his master and Voldemort wouldn't have come after Harry, killing his parents and dooming him to sixteen years at the Dursleys. No, Harry couldn't feel any sorrow at Sybill Trelawney's passing.

The only thing which did concern him, ever so slightly, was Dumbledore not trying to help her somehow. Did this mean that his condition had deteriorated sufficiently that Snape was now controlling him, perhaps on Voldemort's orders?

'We really should get going, Harry.' Hermione's apologetic tone broke into Harry's musings. (Ron emptied his pockets into the top drawer of the bedside cabinet 'For later.') 'You rest and get your strength back.'

'And my bones.' Harry grinned half-heartedly at her.

She returned the grin. 'And your bones. Professor Lupin can still cover for you for a bit longer – the full moon was last week – then you can catch up with anyone you need to catch up with.' She glanced at Madam Pomfrey waiting impatiently by her office door as she gathered up her book. 'Come on, Ron.'

'I won't say "Goodnight" because I know it won't be.' Ron's face screwed up at the prospect of what Harry was facing.

'I only hope Dobby doesn't pay me a visit like he did last time.' Harry tried to sound braver than he felt as Madam Pomfrey descended upon them angrily.

'Now am I to be allowed to treat my patient?'

Harry felt it wise to accept his medicine gracefully, though it took all his strength not to spray it back in her face. He'd forgotten how disgusting that stuff tasted.

It was only after he had settled back into his pillows, his finger starting to prickle painfully, that he realised he hadn't asked Hermione what the 'broken' thing had been.

Next morning, after a quick examination of his finger by a very stern Madam Pomfrey, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, telling Ron and Hermione he was going to spend the day catching up on the sleep he had missed last night. (Lupin was still filling in for him.) Once safely behind his locked door, he grabbed his Cloak and headed for the lake.

_x_

A quick glance around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place told Harry that nobody was there; the drawing room was likewise empty. Not until he reached the master bedroom did he find the object of his search.

But Professor Dumbledore was asleep, the silver moustache fluttering slightly with each breath. Loathe to wake him, Harry turned to go.

'Leaving so soon, Harry?' The voice sounded as frail as its owner looked.

'I didn't mean to disturb you, sir.'

'I am always most delighted to be disturbed, especially by someone who has been occupying my thoughts and dreams so much. It is good to see you restored to full health.'

'I take it Hermione told you what happened?' Harry sat down on the chair beside the bed.

Dumbledore nodded. 'According to Miss Granger, your rest was also disturbed by dreams, most unpleasant ones.' He leaned back into his pillows and waited.

'I was in a large chamber,' Harry began, 'not the Chamber of Secrets, though, and I couldn't get out. It was really echoey, but that could have just been the voices echoing in my head. There were three giant statues – one man, two women. I thought they might have been Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw but they didn't speak English, not properly anyway … I could only understand a few words … one of them said something about hollow ground at one point. They were shouting at me like they were mad or something. Then the Sorting Hat was on my head and I could understand them.

'They told me I had to get a key. There was danger in the school and I had to lock the danger in with the statues but I needed the key. Except I couldn't get out to get the key.' Harry struggled to calm his breathing as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He shrugged apologetically. 'I'm sorry, sir. It was just a dream.'

Dumbledore fixed him with a penetrating gaze. 'I think we both know it was more than a dream, Harry. And the words you understood wouldn't have been _hollow_ ground, but holy or hallowed ground. Unless I am much mistaken, what you saw was the Hallows.'

Harry frowned. 'What's that?'

'It is the room created by Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw to counteract Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.'

'I thought Slytherin kept the Chamber of Secrets, well, _secret_ from the other three founders.'

'And so he did,' Dumbledore replied. 'The others never knew for certain what Slytherin had done, but Gryffindor knew him extremely well and suspected he would do all within his power to endanger those whom he considered to be less than pure.'

'Then the statues _were_ Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.' Harry shook his head, confused. ''So how come I couldn't understand them? I thought they were English.'

'They were Saxons, yes,' Dumbledore nodded. 'But their accent of a thousand years ago would be so different from ours today, I'm surprised you could understand even a few words. Also, the English we speak today is actually a mixture of Saxon (or ancient English), and Norman, which is ancient French. The Saxon words which you didn't understand have since been substituted by Norman ones.'

'Oh.' Harry tried to regather his thoughts. 'So where is the Hallows, sir?'

'It is at Hogwarts, though you will find no mention of it in any book or map. It is even more secret than the Chamber of Secrets and only appears when the school is in gravest peril.'

'What's inside it, sir?' Harry wasn't certain he really wanted to know the answer; if the Hallows contained something powerful enough to defeat Slytherin's evil …

'Nothing.' Dumbledore's moustache twitched slightly at the disbelief on Harry's face. 'Unlike the Chamber of Secrets, which contained a Basilisk which could be released to roam through Hogwarts, purging it of Muggle-borns and half-bloods, the Hallows was created to draw threats to the school _into_ itself, where they could be contained, hidden safely from those who might otherwise have suffered harm.'

Before Harry had a chance to reflect very much upon this, Dumbledore said, 'Describe the chamber for me please, Harry.'

'Like I said, it was big and echoey. It had stone walls like Hogwarts, two large, heavy doors and no windows, only dozens of arches all around it, like the Coliseum.'

'So it was dark?'

'No,' Harry's brow creased again. 'It was really light, like a bright summer's day. But I'm not sure _how _it was light; I didn't see any candles or lamps, and the walls weren't glowing or anything. It was just … _light_.' He shrugged, confused again.

'And the doors?' Dumbledore prompted.

'From what I could see, they were the only way in or out – the arches certainly didn't lead anywhere – really big and really heavy looking. With a strange keyhole. Even though the doors were huge, the keyhole was tiny. I wouldn't have thought it would be enough to hold the doors closed. There were also three small holes around the keyhole, like someone had tried to drill through the lock or something.'

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. 'Three small holes?' he questioned. Harry nodded. Dumbledore thought a moment. 'Small enough to poke a finger into?'

Harry pointed his finger and considered it. 'Mmm, yeah, could be.' He gazed at Dumbledore expectantly.

'Thank you for sharing this information with me, Harry. It tells us that, in order to defeat him, we shall need to lure Lord Voldemort into the Hallows.'

'Except we have to find the key first,' said Harry bitterly. Would these quests never end?

Dumbledore's eyes regained some of the twinkle which had been missing for so long. 'There will be no need to hunt high and low, Harry,' he said. 'The key is where it has always been: with its keeper.'

'But who's the key's keep-?' Harry broke off. _Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts._ 'Hagrid?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Every holder of that post has had access to a small leaden key known as the Founders' Key, but only when it has been requested by the serving headmaster or headmistress.'

Harry tensed. 'So you could have gotten the key from Hagrid any time and locked Voldemort in the Hallows? Why didn't you? Why didn't you destroy him years ago when he first showed his true colours?' Harry was almost shouting. 'My mum and dad needn't have died, or Sirius, or Cedric –'

'Quiet Harry.' Dumbledore's voice was little more than a whisper but it echoed through the suddenly-silent room.

Harry felt like he had been slapped across the face. Surprised to find himself on his feet he mumbled, 'Sorry,' as he sat down.

Dumbledore nodded his acceptance of the apology. 'Locking Voldemort inside the Hallows all those years ago would not have destroyed him; his Horcruxes would have ensured that. And while he would have been separated from wizards and Muggles alike, enabling them to once more live in safety, the time may have one day come when the Hall was once again opened with the intention of luring some future threat inside, only to unwittingly release the very-much-still-alive evil contained within.

'As much as I would have loved nothing better than to have taken care of Lord Voldemort years ago, it has been obvious for some time that the moment of his defeat is only now approaching.' He smiled sadly.

Harry felt ashamed of his outburst. He made an effort to get the conversation back on track.

'So we'll have to bring Hagrid and Professor McGonagall in on our secret?'

'Minerva, at least, but not until we are ready to open the Hallows.'

'And once we've got the key from Hagrid and opened it, what then?'

'Oh, the Founders' Key alone won't open that chamber,' said Dumbledore. 'We shall need the _whole_ key for that. In other words, the descendants of Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw.'

Harry's face must have shown his frustration at the idea of even more research, for Dumbledore's moustache twitched again.

'Don't worry Harry; you won't need to spend hours in the library pouring over dusty old books. All three descendants are within easy reach.'

'They are?' asked Harry excitedly. 'Where are they? I mean, where's the other one?'

Dumbledore frowned. 'Other _one_?'

'Zacharius Smith is related to Hepzibah Smith, isn't he?'

Dumbledore gazed at Harry a moment. 'It is true that Mr Smith is descended from Helga Hufflepuff, but he is not her closest living relative. Miss Susan Bones is.'

Now Harry was really confused. 'How is Susan more closely related than Zacharius? I mean, a thousand years is a thousand years; and Zacharius's family had the cup.'

'Yes, but what makes one descendant more closely related to an ancestor than another is not the amount of time between the two, but the closeness to the direct male line. You are Gryffindor's heir because you only have to go back to Primula Potter to find a Gryffindor; the next descendant needs to go back to the eighteenth century.'

Harry blinked. 'I have relatives besides Aunt Petunia?'

'Yes,' answered Dumbledore, cautiously in Harry's opinion, 'but they are very distant.'

'Who?'

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a moment. 'Not now, Harry. Let us get you safely through the ordeal facing you first, then you will have the rest of your hopefully long and safe life to get to know your _very_ distant relations.

'Mr Zacharius Smith,' Dumbledore firmly directed the discussion from Harry's mystery relatives, 'needs to trace back to the Middle Ages to find a Hufflepuff, but Miss Bones only needs to go back to 1817.'

'But what if Susan doesn't want to help?'

'I don't see that being a problem. Miss Smith was in my "army", so she has certainly demonstrated a desire to do something about fighting against evil. And she has lost several family members to Lord Voldemort's forces, most recently, her father. I think we can quite confidently rely upon her co-operation.'

'And Ravenclaw?'

'Again, not now. Unlike the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff lines, the Ravenclaw heir is the only descendant remaining. There is no second to take their place so, for their protection, I would prefer to keep their identity secret. But then, that was the legacy of the Ravenclaw line: too busy falling in love with books and extending their knowledge to realise that what they should have been doing was simply _falling in love_ and extending Rowena's family. When the time is right, they shall be revealed.

'And now, Harry, it is time I returned to my rest, or Professor Snape shall be most severe with me when he arrives, and we can't have that, can we?'

'No, sir.' Harry grinned as he took his leave.

'No indeed,' murmured Dumbledore as he closed his eyes. 'Not at all good for his blood pressure.


	19. Chapter 19: Poison Chalice

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER NINETEEN –**

**Poison Chalice**

'How many are dead today?' Ron asked Harry as he examined the _Prophet_ over a bowl of porridge.

'You don't have to be so blunt about it.' Hermione shook her head at her boyfriend's lack of sympathy for total strangers.

'Er … just the one,' Harry told Ron. 'Plus two are missing and there's been another – oh, they've got to be joking!'

'What?' Hermione's eyes widened in alarm.

'They've arrested Perkins. Wasn't he the bloke who used to work with your dad?'

'Yeah.' Ron tried to wipe egg yolk from the front of his robes; he had dropped his spoon when Harry had said Perkins' name. 'What did they arrest him for?'

'Killing somebody called Bozo Benzali.'

Ron looked like he had been Confunded. 'Who's he?'

'Some photographer for the _Prophet_. What is it?' He frowned at Hermione, who was gazing into space.

'I've heard that name before.' She was still staring, unfocused, at nothing.

'What's so important about some photographer?' Ron attacked his egg again.

'He might have taken a picture of something he wasn't supposed to, like where Voldemort's hideout is.'

'Oh, come on, if he did that, it would be all over the front page.' Ron jabbed his spoon towards Harry's paper. 'The _Prophet_'d want everybody to know _they_ were the ones who found You-Know-Who.'

'Maybe he didn't realise what he'd found. Or maybe the Death Eaters got to him before he could get back to the _Prophet_,' Harry mused.

'But why would Perkins be charged with his murder? He'd be the last person who'd become a Death Eater.' Ron was still struggling to understand why all of this had happened, let alone how.

Harry shrugged. He was at as much of a loss as Ron as to why the Ministry would arrest one of its own, a low-ranking officer in an insignificant department which looked after the interests of Muggles.

They spent the rest of breakfast in silence, each lost in their own thoughts of why the Minister would consider a low-paid employee would even be remotely connected to the death of a photographer. It wasn't until later that night, after he got back from his Herbology tutorial, that they had a chance to talk about it further.

'I found out why I'd heard that photographer's name before.' Hermione tossed a newspaper into Harry's lap as he collapsed with relief into a chair in front of the fire. Unfolding the paper, Harry didn't need to look far. Hermione had circled a name printed in small letters in the bottom corner of the picture occupying half of the front page. But the identity of the photographer paled into significance next to the photograph itself: it was the one which had been taken as part of the publicity for the Triwizard tournament. Harry gazed in mild shock at the photo, taking in just how many of the people present had fallen foul of Voldemort and his mates.

'So he was the creep who helped Rita Skeeter be a horrible, nasty –'

'Rita Skeeter didn't need help being horrible and nasty, Ron,' said Hermione.

'Looking at that, you'd almost think You-Know-Who had it in for the people who were involved with the tournament.' Ginny glanced across at the picture. 'Cedric, Karkaroff, Krum, Mr Ollivander, Rita Skeeter, Dumbledore, the photographer. The only ones who haven't been harmed are Fleur, Madame Maxime and Ludo Bagman.'

'And Harry,' said Ron.

Harry snorted. 'I'd hardly call myself unharmed where Voldemort is concerned.'

'What was Ollivander doing there?' Ron was frowning more closely at the picture now.

'He was there for the Weighing of the Wands,' Harry replied.

'What, he wanted to see how heavy they were?'

'No, he tested them to make sure they worked OK. He was really good at it, too. He knew who had made Krum's wand, and that Fleur's had a Veela hair in it; that's how I found out about her grandmother. And, of course, he knew all about Cedric and my wands since he made –' Harry stopped as a thought suddenly struck him.

'Where are you going?' Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all startled when he jumped up, sending the _Prophet_ flying.

'To see McGonagall,' Harry threw back over his shoulder as he hurried through the portrait hole.

'Professor, I need … need …' Harry blinked stupidly as he gazed around McGonagall's office. He had apparently burst in in the middle of a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix; he recognised Remus, Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bill amongst the dozen or so people blinking back at him in surprise.

'You need to discuss something with me?' McGonagall asked dryly.

'Er … yes.' Harry glanced nervously around the group. It was probably fortuitous that Bill was here, but he had hoped to keep this secret.

'And it can't wait?'

'No,' Harry told her. He didn't like the way Moody was staring at him. McGonagall also stared hard at him for several moments as his nervousness increased, then she sighed tiredly. 'Very well, everybody. I think we've pretty much covered everything for tonight.' She was watching Harry very closely. He felt for his wand inside his robes and gave it the tiniest of flicks, concentrating hard on the word _Propositium_. 'Bill,' she added as Bill gathered up his cloak, 'would you please wait downstairs? I'd like a quick word after Potter is finished.'

Bill frowned at her slightly, clearly not certain what more she had to discuss with him, but didn't start to pull his cloak about his shoulders as he left with the others.

McGonagall gazed up at Harry, her lips thin with displeasure at the rude interruption. 'Well, Potter, what was so important?'

Harry waited until he heard the door click shut behind him.

'I need you to hide Fleur Dela – I mean Weasley, Madame Maxime and Ludo Bagman.'

Whatever McGonagall was expecting Harry to say, it certainly wasn't that.

'Why?'

'Because they know information which Voldemort is desperate to find out.'

McGonagall's face tightened at the mention of Voldemort's name but she said nothing about it. 'What information would those particular people possibly share which You-Know-Who would find of interest?'

'Just information,' Harry hedged. 'I'm sorry; I can't give you details because it would place you at risk as well. Just trust me though. Please.'

'Is anybody else privy to this … _information_?'

'Only me,' Harry told her. 'Even Ron and Hermione don't know it.'

'But Olympe, Miss Delacour and Ludo Bagman do?'

'Yes.' Harry gazed back at her, imploring her to just do as he said.

'I'm sorry, Potter,' McGonagall shook her head. 'I am afraid I cannot just pull three people out of existence and make them disappear without good cause. It is far too complex and expensive a procedure to waste upon the word of a student.'

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'I thought I was supposed to be a teacher.'

'You are, but –'

'If it was Professor Flitwick or Professor Capsworth who was asking you to do this, would you give them the third degree too, or would you just do it and trust that they know what they're on about?'

'I'm sorry, Potter.' She refused to back down.

Harry glared at her in frustration, reluctant to reveal his reasons to her. Why couldn't she just trust him for once, trust his judgement? He gazed past her shoulder at Dumbledore's portrait, which nodded at him and gave a small wink. Harry frowned at him. The snow-white head nodded again.

'Now, Potter, if there is nothing more –'

'They know about my wand.' Harry said in a rush.

McGonagall had started to stand up, clearly intending to show Harry to the door, but stopped halfway and slowly sat down again.

'Your … wand?'

'Yes.' Harry chanced another glance in Dumbledore's direction and got another wink. 'The night Cedric died, Voldemort tried to fight me but our wands didn't work like they should have. They went really strange. Now Voldemort is trying to find out why. He doesn't believe that it was because I'm a powerful wizard because he doesn't believe I'm powerful, so it had to be because of my wand. That's why Mr Ollivander disappeared. He knew Voldemort would try to capture him and quiz him about how my wand had been made.'

'How would he have known that?'

'At a guess, I would say Professor Dumbledore told him. He may even have been the one to hide him. When Malfoy was up on the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore told him to come back to the right side, that he could hide him and his mum so well, nobody would ever find them, so he would have had no trouble with Ollivander.'

'And why would You-Know-Who believe that Olympe, Fleur and Ludo would know about your wand?'

'Because they were there when Mr Ollivander told everybody present about my wand at the Weighing of the Wands for the Triwizard Tournament. Of everybody else who was there, Rita Skeeter was abducted so Voldemort could check out her memory, and the others are dead. Dumbledore, Krum, Karkaroff, and Cedric. And according to the _Prophet_, the photographer turned up dead yesterday. Voldemort's going through everybody who had anything to do with that photo shoot, trying to find out what he wants to know.

'So you have to get Madame Maxime, Fleur and Mr Bagman hidden. Madame Maxime and Fleur probably wouldn't talk, so they'd just end up dead, but Bagman certainly wouldn't have any qualms spilling his soul if it could save his life. They might even be able to trick him into letting it slip. Just a couple of drinks down the pub, maybe offer to pay his debts for him …'

'All right, Potter.' This last part seemed to have finally swayed McGonagall. 'I'll get things in place. You may sleep easily tonight. The secret of your wand, whatever that secret may be,' her lips tightened a little, 'is safe. Now, if you wouldn't mind asking Bill Weasley to come back up as you leave.'

Understanding himself to be dismissed, Harry stood, feeling extremely relieved that she would finally do as he had asked. It was just a pity she couldn't have acted immediately without insisting on sharing in the secret first.

_x_

'Harry,' a voice called after him as he was about to unlock the door to his office. Turning, he saw Susan Bones running along the corridor towards him. 'Hermione Granger said you wanted to speak to me.'

'Yes,' Harry replied, holding the door open. 'If you have a moment.'

Dumping a pile of first-year essays on his desk, Harry indicated for Susan to take a seat. Once they were settled, he asked, 'What are you plans over Easter?'

Susan blinked. 'My plans?'

'Yes. Are you going home or staying here to do some extra studying?'

'I was going to stay here and study; I mean, the exams aren't far off. Why?' she asked, clearly confused.

'I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me with something … something of a dark nature.'

'Doing what?'

'I need help destroying a very dark object. And I must warn you that it will be very risky and dangerous, possibly even fatal.' Harry held his breath.

Susan gazed at him, perplexed. 'Shouldn't you be asking Hermione? After all, she was the best in the DA after you … best at everything, in fact.' Harry's face must have reflected his disappointment for she rushed on. 'Of course I'll be happy to help you … if I can … but are you sure you've got the right person?'

'I've got the right one all right,' replied Harry. 'It's not so much skill I'm after, not that I'm saying you're not talented,' he hastened to assure her, 'because I know you are. It's just that what I need is someone who is descended from Helga Hufflepuff.'

'How do you know about that?' she whispered.

'Dumbledore told me,' said Harry quietly.

Susan's face paled. 'Everyone thought they were killed because they sided with Dumbledore or did something to make _him_ mad, but Dumbledore always believed it was because of who we are. Dad thought it all ended years ago, but then Auntie Amelia died and …' She made an odd sound, like she had swallowed a sob in the back of her throat.

Gazing unseeing at Sirius's empty frame hanging on the wall behind Harry, she asked, 'Will what you want me to do help destroy him?'

'Yes.' Harry watched her closely.

Something steely flashed through her eyes as Susan brought her gaze back to Harry. 'Then I'll do it! I'll help you!'

Harry held her gaze. 'I must ask you not to mention a word of this to anyone – not your mother, friends or even Professor McGonagall. And definitely not Stanwick Fulstrum.'

Susan gazed at him curiously, but nevertheless nodded her agreement to his terms.

'Good.' Harry accompanied Susan to the door. 'I'll meet you in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom right after breakfast on the first day of the holidays.'

As he closed the door behind her, he heaved a huge sigh of relief.

_x_

The first morning of the holidays found Harry hidden under his Invisibility Cloak outside Myrtle's bathroom, having already received good luck wishes from Ron and Hermione (they were staying at school to study). He had been there about twenty minutes and was starting to think Susan had forgotten when he saw her turn into the corridor. He dropped the Cloak.

'Harry?' Susan jumped, startled, as he appeared out of nowhere. Then she noticed the Cloak at his feet and her jaw dropped.

'Where did you get that?' she almost whispered in awe.

'It was my dad's,' said Harry offhandedly. 'Dumbledore gave it to me my first Christmas here.' He slung it over his shoulders. 'You know how to use one of these?'

'Yes.'

'Then let's go.'

'Where are we?' Susan looked around the kitchen of number twelve with increasing puzzlement.

'My house.'

'You live _here_? Where are the Muggles?'

'This isn't my aunt and uncle's house; it's _my_ place. I inherited it from my godfather.'

'And the dark thing you want me to help you destroy is here?'

'It's upstairs. Don't worry; we'll get to it soon. But first, I need to tell you a few things. How do you like your tea?' He reached for the pot which Dumbledore had welcomingly left on the table.

'Don't tell me you own a house elf as well?'

The teapot slipped.

'Yes,' said Harry shortly. 'But it's at Hogwarts. Sugar?' He passed her a cup as she sat down.

Susan peered over the rim as he took several deep breaths.

'Are you OK?' She set her cup down which, upon reflection, was probably fortunate because she wouldn't be able to choke or smash anything.

'What would you say if I told you that Snape didn't really kill Professor Dumbledore last year?'

She took it better that he had expected. As Harry led Susan upstairs, she didn't shrink from him or tell him he was touched in the head or anything. She simply accepted his explanations and instructions without argument. He should have known it was too good to be true.

Upon entering the drawing room, Susan only managed to get one piercing scream out before Dumbledore silenced her but it was enough to set Mrs Black going. When Harry got back upstairs (he _really _needed to get some paint stripper), Susan was sitting on the sofa next to Dumbledore, feeling his face like a blind person, all the while sobbing quietly as Dumbledore's pale blue eyes smiled at her through the half-moon glasses.

'You see,' he said. 'Harry was telling you the truth.'

'And Snape?' she hiccoughed.

'All true. I owe him my life.'

'But why?'

'I already told you why.' Harry joined them.

'Put yourself in my place for a moment, Susan.' Dumbledore held her gaze. 'You are the last of the Boneses. Lord Voldemort wants you dead and has ordered his Death Eaters to murder you. You've been lucky so far, but your luck is bound to run out before too long. What would be the only thing which would stop Voldemort trying to kill you?'

'Him thinking I was dead.'

'And would you tell anybody what you were planning to do?'

Susan gazed at Dumbledore a moment then, inexplicably, said, 'I'm sorry,' tears flowing freely again.

Dumbledore gently pulled her against his shoulder. 'Shhh … shhh … it's all right. It's all right. Shhh.'

When Susan finally sat back, the shoulder of Dumbledore's robe was quite damp. Blushing, she pulled out a handkerchief and tried to mop the cloth dry.

'You know,' Dumbledore leaned down to murmur conspiratorially, 'there is an easier way. You are a witch, after all.'

Susan frowned, puzzled, then gasped and pulled out her wand. Laughing, she gave it a flick, her good humour starting to return.

'Now that you are feeling better, do you feel up to tackling something bigger?'

Susan sobered her face into a serious expression. 'I think so, yes, Professor.'

Dumbledore continued to look at her with a penetrating gaze, as if making his own judgement of her readiness. Satisfied, he gave a small nod.

'Harry, if you could please fetch the items from the top of the cabinet, I think it is time we began.' Once Harry had returned and settled everything, Dumbledore began.

'Tell me, do either of you know how to perform the Tuc Charm?'

He got two blank looks in return.

'Very well, we shall start with that. The incantation is _Phleshnit_.'

'What's it for?' Susan asked as Harry shook his head.

'It's the spell which heals open wounds. We shall need to fill Helga Hufflepuff's cup with equal amounts of venom, Harry's and your blood and a small prick shan't be in any way sufficient. So you shall have quite significant cuts to heal.'

'Hufflepuff's …?' Susan's hand shot out, snatching up the cup and turning it over. 'How did you get this? This was stolen from the Smiths years ago.'

'You know you're related to Zacharius Smith?' asked Harry, surprised.

'Only distantly,' said Susan, as if it was on no consequence. 'One of their ancestors took this from one of our ancestors and we haven't seen it since. The Smiths made a huge noise about fifty years ago about it being nicked, but Grandpa always thought they really sold it and were trying to cover it up, as well as making sure everybody knew_ they _were descended from a Hogwarts founder.' Her tone became steadily colder as she spoke. She glanced up at Dumbledore. 'Where did you get this?'

Lord Voldemort hid it in the Chamber of Secrets some time ago,' Dumbledore replied. 'Harry fetched it out a couple of weeks ago.'

Susan gazed back down at the items on the coffee table. 'A third of a cup, huh?'

'Yes, but not yet. First,' Dumbledore nodded at the cup in Susan's hand. 'I shall need you to perform the Copy-Cat Charm upon that cup.'

'Copy-Cat?'

'Yes. Am I correct in believing that you are studying Charms for your N.E.W.T.s?'

Susan nodded.

'Then, the Copy Cat Charm, if you please.' Dumbledore leant back against the sofa.

Susan glanced around at Harry, as if hoping he would explain what was going on, but found no help from that quarter. Scowling at him as though this was somehow his fault, she waved her wand and a second identical cup appeared in her lap.

After Harry had stored the replica safely in his bedroom, Dumbledore settled down to teach them how to perform a Drawing Charm.

An hour later, he was satisfied that they were ready. Harry measured out one third of a cup of the venom Snape had milked from the Basilisk, collected Susan's blood and then cut his own arm with Dumbledore's knife as Susan healed her arm. Holding the two wands together, they both carefully stirred the mixture.

The cup started to glow, becoming brighter with each turn as Harry spoke the words of the Drawing charm over and over. His hand was starting to burn from the heat of the bubbling brew, spreading slowly up his arm.

The temptation to let go was almost too much. _Horcrux Exsilium! _It was burning so much. _Horcrux Invictus!_ His scar was exploding. _Horcrux Funero!_

_x_

'Harry …'

The voice sounded far away.

'Harry …'

With a struggle, Harry fought against the weight pressing his eyes closed. Blurred shadows swam before him for a moment, then a bony hand pressed his glasses onto his nose and Dumbledore's concerned face came into view.

'Drink this before you try to speak. Your throat will be quite parched.' Dumbledore held a cup to Harry's lips.

Cup …

Harry sat bolt upright, making Dumbledore spill liquid down his front.

'No matter,' Dumbledore assured him as he tried to stammer an apology. 'It won't stain; it was only water.' He pointed his wand at the cup (_'Aguamenti'_) and it refilled.

'Susan?' Harry croaked, gulping mouthfuls of the cool liquid.

'Miss Bones has suffered no lasting damage,' said Dumbledore. 'Severus is tending to her as we speak.'

Harry choked. 'Snape's here?'

'_Professor_ Snape, yes. It is thanks to his ministrations that you have only taken two days to recover.' He reached into his robes and pulled out one of Honeydukes eggs. 'I know it is a day late but … Happy Easter.'

Harry stared at the egg. 'Did we manage to destroy the Horcrux, sir?'

A wary light flickered in Dumbledore's blue eyes. 'This egg made you think of the Basilisk, didn't it?'

Harry frowned. 'Yeah, how –'

'You spoke Parseltongue just now.'

Harry didn't know what to say to that. 'I … I'm sorry, sir.' He repeated the question, making sure he spoke English.

Dumbledore's quiet smile returned. 'You were successful, though it is possibly fortunate that Helga Hufflepuff has long since left this world, for it will no longer serve as a vessel for holding liquid.' He directed Harry's attention to the small chest of drawers by his bed. Hufflepuff's cup was lying on its side, the emblem melted into the tarnished gold. Harry saw immediately why Dumbledore said it couldn't be used as a cup anymore: there was a large hole where the bottom of the cup had been, its edges burnt black like the base had been blasted away.

'Is it safe?'

He got a nod in return.

Picking it up, Harry turned it over in his hands, checking out the damage. He grinned nervously. 'It's a good thing we got Susan to make a copy _before_ we destroyed the Horcrux.'

Dumbledore chuckled softly as Snape entered the room, a tray floating ahead of him. He sneered when he saw Harry sitting up. Harry glared back.

'How is Miss Bones, Severus?'

'Greatly improved since she has eaten. She is currently freshening up.' The dark eyes continued to bore into Harry.

'Ah,' sighed Dumbledore, gazing at the steaming bowl. 'There is nothing like a hot bowl of hearty broth to restore one's strength. Eat up, Harry, so you may greatly improve, also.'

Snape's lip curled.

Dumbledore peered up at him over the half-moon spectacles. 'It's all right, Severus; you may go now. I've taken up too much of your time already but we should be able to manage by ourselves now. Thank you … for everything.'

Snape's eyes glittered almost menacingly but he said nothing, merely nodding curtly before sweeping from Harry's bedroom.

'Please tell me I don't owe a life debt to him.' Harry continued to stare at the door.

'Would it matter if you do?' Dumbledore sounded amused.

'Yeah. If Voldemort finds out, all he'll have to do is kill Snape and he'll kill me!'

'That is why Professor Snape will make certain Lord Voldemort does _not_ find out. Now eat up.' He slid the soup bowl closer to Harry.

'So there is a life debt?'

'Eat, Harry.'

'But –'

'Uh, uh,' Dumbledore stopped him. 'Eat. When you have a full stomach, then we shall discuss this matter. For now, though –' He stood. 'I need to ensure Miss Bones doesn't become lost in this house.'

Harry was searching drawers when Dumbledore returned.

'I can't find my ring,' he said distractedly.

'You're not going anywhere, Harry,' sighed Dumbledore. 'And certainly not back to Hogwarts; not until the end of the holidays. Now, if you would kindly join Miss Bones and myself in the drawing room,' (he picked up Harry's empty tray), 'we can have our chat.'

'So, what did you want to talk about, Professor?' Susan still looked very washed out and Harry wondered absently if he was just as pale.

'How much has Harry told you about all of this?'

'Only that Professor Snape only pretended to kill you and that you needed my help to perform a spell on Helga Hufflepuff's cup. But there's more, isn't there?'

'I'm afraid so,' said Dumbledore gravely. 'We shall require your help opening and closing a door.'

'Opening …?'

'And closing.'

'Where's the door?' Susan looked very lost.

'At Hogwarts,' said Dumbledore. 'Or, at least it will be when it appears. Harry will let you know when it is time.'

Susan glanced warily from Dumbledore to Harry and back. 'What do I have to do to help open this door?'

'Prick your finger.'

'My finger?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Basically, we shall need a drop of your blood.'

Susan's eyes narrowed. 'You mean Helga Hufflepuff's blood.' She didn't sound very pleased. 'Who else are you roping into this?'

Both men tensed.

'You said just now that you wanted me to _help_ you open a door, not open it outright. So, like I said, who else is there?'

'Me.'

Dumbledore looked across at Harry.

'What? She's going to find out sooner or later.'

'I would have preferred it was later rather than sooner,' sighed Dumbledore.

'Why?' Susan was watching the two of them. 'What's wrong with me knowing the truth?'

'Nothing, except that the later you learn it, the less danger you will be in.'

'Danger?' Susan gave a bitter laugh. 'Most of my family have been killed around me and I was almost killed myself … by a gold cup. I think I can handle danger. So out with it.'

Harry's eyes flicked to Dumbledore who said, 'You can't argue with that.'

Sensing she'd won some kind of victory, Susan pressed her advantage, throwing question after question at Harry.

'If you need my blood because I'm descended from Helga Hufflepuff, then I assume you need the other founders' families, too?'

'Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, yes.'

'And we have to help you open this door?'

'You and the Ravenclaw heir do.'

'And what does Gryffindor's heir have to do?'

Harry could feel Dumbledore watching him. 'I _am_ Gryffindor's heir.'

Susan jaw dropped slightly. 'I thought you were the Chosen One.'

'And the Boy who Lived,' said Harry in a bored sort of voice. 'But that's neither here nor there.'

'But you're the _Chosen One_,' Susan stressed. 'You've been chosen by the fates to destroy You-Know-Who.'

'Actually, I was chosen by _Voldemort_ as the most dangerous threat to him,' Harry contradicted. 'That's why I'm the bait to lure him into that room.'

'And what's so important about the room? What's in it?' Susan sounded like she was facing a Boggart.

'Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw's tombs,' said Dumbledore.

Susan frowned. 'What about Slytherin?'

'He had the Chamber of Secrets,' Harry reminded her.

'Wasn't that the place which had a monster hidden in it?' Memory sparked in Susan's eyes. 'You killed it; second-year, right?'

Harry nodded.

'So you've got Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and – oh … who's Ravenclaw's descendant?'

'I don't know, though I've been told we'll find out when the time is right.' Harry threw Dumbledore a frustrated look.

'And what about Slytherin's heir?'

'He's the one we're hoping to destroy.'

'Destroy?' Susan choked. 'You mean …? But I thought you were supposed to kill You-Know …' Dawning spread across her face. '_You-Know-Who_ is Slytherin's heir? I thought it was Draco Malfoy.'

'Don't worry,' Dumbledore consoled her. 'You weren't the only one.'

Susan stared at Harry and Dumbledore for a few minutes, taking it all in. 'OK, once we're all in this room, what then?'

'Voldemort and I will duel,' said Harry. 'That's what all of this has been leading up to. Hopefully, we'll be able to get him in there by himself but he could have some Death Eaters with him so _you_ might be busy fighting _them_.'

'That is why –' said Dumbledore, '– for the remainder of the holidays, both Harry and yourself shall practise your Defence techniques.'

'Look at it this way,' grinned Harry. 'It should help you get Outstanding on your exam.'

The following day, Remus and Ginny visited, arriving in time to find Harry and Dumbledore puzzling over how best to destroy the Ravenclaw heirloom … when the time was right to reveal the heir, of course. (Harry fumed frustratedly.)

'So what's the problem?' asked Ginny after Susan explained how they had destroyed the Hufflepuff Horcrux.

'Well, since it's solid, they can't exactly pour the potion down its throat, can they?' said Susan forlornly.

'How about stabbing it with a Basilisk fang?' suggested Ginny. 'Harry did that with the diary.'

'Ah,' Dumbledore looked over from his discussion with Remus, 'but the diary wasn't made of metal; Rowena Ravenclaw's statue is. And even if we did manage to lay our hands on something strong enough to penetrate the metal, I'm not certain that stabbing would be enough; I can't seem to be able to escape the feeling that the bird needs to be properly broken.'

'You mean, split it down the middle?' asked Harry.

'Probably,' Dumbledore agreed.

'What about an axe?' Susan put forward.

'Wouldn't it be easier to cut its head off?' asked Ginny. (Harry thought of the scene Kreacher had set up in the kitchen).

Lupin said, 'It would also need to contain sufficient magical power itself to withstand the magic of the eagle, the potion and the Drawing Charm.'

And, suddenly, Harry had it.

'Would Gryffindor's sword do the trick?'

Dumbledore's moustache stretched in a wide grin. 'It would, indeed. Very well thought of, Harry. And you also, Ginny; it probably will be easier to behead the eagle than split it in two. Not as much risk of losing fingers while trying to restrain it.

'Well, now we know what the next step is: borrowing Godric Gryffindor's sword from Professor McGonagall's office. I trust I can safely leave that task to you, Harry?'

Harry had no idea how he was going to achieve this without rousing McGonagall's suspicions, but felt it prudent not to deny Dumbledore's request, especially in front of two girls.

At Hogwarts a week later, Harry decided that the best time to approach McGonagall would be when she was warm, relaxed and well fed. He waited until after dinner on the second night back. He had wanted to change into his cleanest, best-ironed, most crisply-starched robes but Dumbledore had felt that McGonagall's suspicions would be aroused too much; it was going to be enough just trying to get the sword. This still didn't stop Harry nervously brushing at his robes as he reached for the griffin-shaped knocker on McGonagall's office door.

'So, what did you wish to see me about, Potter?' asked McGonagall as she settled herself behind her desk. Harry cleared his throat.

'I was wondering if I could borrow the Sorting Hat, please.'

'The Sorting Hat?'

Harry nodded.

'Might I enquire as to the purpose?' McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly.

'I want to show my second years how I defeated the Basilisk in _my_ second year.' Harry threw her a look which he hoped said, 'You need to ask?'

McGonagall, in return, stared at Harry as though she thought he might be Lockhart on Polyjuice. She didn't say anything for several minutes, allowing silence to stretch between them and Harry's heart to bang erratically inside his chest. Finally, her lips thinned into their familiar line.

'How long would you need it for, Potter?' McGonagall's eyes drifted to the patched and frayed head covering occupying pride of place upon its high shelf.

The knot in Harry's stomach untwisted a fraction. 'Basically a week, starting with the Hufflepuffs tomorrow and finishing with Slytherin next Monday.' That would give him the weekend to deal with the Horcrux. He just hoped he didn't get knocked out for more than two days like last time.

'I thought you defeated Slytherin's monster using Godric Gryffindor's sword.' McGonagall fixed Harry with a suspicious glare.

Harry felt some of the colour drain from his face. 'I did; Fawkes brought me the Sorting Hat and I pulled the sword from it.'

'And why, exactly, do you wish to recreate your past endeavours? I don't recall seeing anything to that effect in your class outlines.'

'It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, really,' said Harry offhandedly. 'They've been doing pretty good and I thought I might give them a bit of a treat; let them see that what they've been learning can be very useful in a practical sense, that sort of thing.'

McGonagall's eyes narrowed further. Harry willed his face not to turn red.

'No, I don't think so, Potter.'

It took every ounce of strength to keep his voice steady as Harry said, 'May I ask why not?'

'Because I don't believe it is necessary.' McGonagall sounded so annoyingly calm as she crushed Harry's hopes. 'You have more than enough to be going on with and so cannot afford to be wasting time indulging in what ultimately boils down to recreational activities. Just stick to the curriculum outlined and your students will be the more grateful for it.'

For the next several weeks, Harry continued his efforts to get McGonagall to change her mind. As a damp April blossomed into a steamier May, the headmistress's patience stretched very thin. Even _Felix_ couldn't get her to shift her position. Harry would have preferred to give the whole thing up as lost, but Dumbledore's unwavering belief in him (as well as Snape's snide comments during their Potions classes) kept Harry at it.

Then, two weeks before his exams were due to start, Harry, Ron and Hermione were returning to Gryffindor Tower after studying late in the library when –

'The headmistress wants to see you, Potter. In her office. Now.'

Harry stared at Filch's snarling face. 'Did she say why?'

'Guilty conscience?' Filch snapped back, but his attitude spoke volumes; McGonagall hadn't confided in the crusty old caretaker and he wasn't happy about it.

Sighing, Harry passed his books to Ron and Hermione and assured them he would catch up with them in the common room soon (he just hoped that would prove to be true), then he beat the familiar path to the gargoyle.

'You wanted to see me, Professor?' Harry's eyes flicked briefly to the Sorting Hat.

McGonagall rose and walked over to the Hat's shelf. Harry held his breath, not daring to hope, as she reached up and took the Sorting Hat down. Harry slowly reached a hand for it but she held it back.

'You do realise, Potter, that I have not reached this decision lightly,' McGonagall said through very thin lips. 'I have examined the arguments, both for and against, and have decided that you have proved yourself worthy enough to be entrusted with the school's most prized possession … for a very brief period of time, of course. You should consider yourself most fortunate you have some very loyal supporters.' She looked very stern as she passed the Hat to him.

What supporters? Had Ron, Hermione and Ginny petitioned her on his behalf? Harry didn't have a clue what McGonagall was talking about but he could worry about it later; he had the Sorting Hat in his hands at last and that was the important thing.

'I'll expect you to return it here this time next week.'

Harry realised McGonagall was still speaking.

'What … er, yeah, sure. Next Monday night will be fine.' Harry went to leave.

'And Potter …'

Harry turned back. McGonagall had moved over to the window; faint starlight reflected in her eyes as she glanced around at him.

'Be careful you don't damage that Hat at all.'

'Yes, Professor.'

On the wall past McGonagall's shoulder, Dumbledore's portrait winked at Harry, and as the headmistress turned back to the window, Harry gave a wink in return.

'Why have you got the Sorting Hat, Harry?' asked Dean Thomas, making the Gryffindors in the common room, most of them seventh years, turn.

Harry collapsed into an armchair in front of the fireplace; he was quite worn out. 'I need it for the second years. I'm going to show them how I fought off the Basilisk and Voldemort in _our_ second year,' he said, ignoring the wave of gasps and shudders at Voldemort's name.

The students abandoned their studies and crowded around.

'What does the Sorting Hat have to do with that?'

'Are you going to recreate what happened?'

'You're not going to bring _another_ Basilisk into the school, are you? You'll lose us so many points!'

Harry waited for the commotion to die down.

'Yes, I'm going to try to recreate the events of five years ago, but no, Parvati, I am _not_ going to use a real Basilisk. Hagrid is giving me a harmless python which I will have no trouble giving instructions to since I can speak Parseltongue.' He could tell by the sudden nervous glances flicking back and forth between his classmates that they were all remembering the disastrous Duelling class Professor Lockhart had held during their second year.

'But why have you got the Sorting Hat?' asked Neville. 'I thought you killed the Basilisk with a sword. Or were the stories wrong?'

'No, the stories weren't wrong … well, mostly,' Harry assured Neville. 'I did use a sword. But I didn't have it with me when I first went into the Chamber of Secrets.' He glanced around at the puzzled faces. 'It appeared by magic. Watch.' Crossing to the centre of the room, Harry tossed the Hat into the air and caught it with one hand.

The whole room's attention was focused on the Sorting Hat. Every one of them could tell there was something suddenly different about it.

'There's something inside that,' commented Seamus.

Reaching into the Hat, Harry pulled forth the ruby-encrusted sword to a chorus of astonished and impressed gasps.

'Cool trick!'

'You did that in _second_ year?'

'Can I have a go?'

All the Gryffindors crowded around, reaching out to stroke the sword.

'Can anybody do that?' Lavender Brown ran her fingers along the blade.

'Only a true Gryffindor.'

'So would the other houses get something which belonged to their own founders?' Colin Creevey was one of the few sixth years still up.

'What are you talking about?' asked Seamus.

Colin pointed to the sword. 'Look at the name on it.'

More astonished gasps echoed around the room as the students noticed the name.

_Godric Gryffindor_.

'Wow!' Seamus's attitude was suddenly much more reverent. 'That's old!'

'And you just pulled it out of the Sorting Hat?'

Harry nodded at Parvati Patil, who promptly snatched up the Hat. Before she could do anything with it though, Seamus grabbed it off her, then tossed it to Dean before she could grab it back.

Dean threw it into the air and caught it one-handed just like Harry, but nothing happened. He threw it up again, but still nothing. He looked over at Harry, clearly puzzled. 'Do you have to be pure-blood?'

'I'm not.' Harry didn't want to voice his opinion that 'true Gryffindor' might mean _descended_ from Gryffindor. The only people at Hogwarts who knew about his family were Ron and Hermione; he wasn't sure that McGonagall even knew. And that was the way he wanted it to stay.

'I'm pure-blood.' A fifth-year waved a hand in the air, waiting to catch the Hat, but even when it reached him, it remained empty.

Harry grasped the sword a little more tightly as the boys began tossing the Hat from one to the other like a Quaffle – Seamus, back to Dean, to Colin, back to Seamus, to Neville –

_Clunk!_

Neville overbalanced under the unexpected weight of a suddenly-no-longer-empty Hat.

Harry realised, with a start, that Gryffindor's sword was no longer in his arms. He threw Ron and Hermione a puzzled glance, getting equally confused shrugs in return.

'How did you do that?' Seamus seemed angry that Neville had pulled off a magical feat he had failed to accomplish.

'I guess I'm just a true Gryffindor,' mumbled Neville as he avoided everybody's eyes, even Harry's, his face turning bright red.

'What are you all doing?'

Everyone jumped. Nobody had noticed McGonagall climb through the portrait hole. Neville scrambled to his feet, guilt flushing his face as he passed the Hat and sword back to Harry. McGonagall's eyes followed the movement.

'I was just showing them what I'm going to teach the second years, Professor.' Harry willed his face not to redden. 'Was there anything I can help you with or did you want to speak to Ron and Hermione about something?' He tried to school his features into an unconcerned expression.

McGonagall didn't look completely convinced that they hadn't been up to mischief.

'The sword disappeared from my office,' she explained, still eyeing Harry suspiciously. 'I came to investigate.'

'Well, as you can see, both the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword are quite safe. I'd just finished demonstrating my lesson to everybody, and we were all about to head up to bed, when you came in.' Harry could feel several pairs of eyes boring into him as he forced a yawn. He imagined that most of the students had planned to keep studying; he knew Ron still had two essays to write.

McGonagall glanced around the room, perhaps forming her own assessment of whether beds had been on the verge of being filled.

'Very well, Potter; make certain you keep both of those items well guarded.' She glanced from Ron to Hermione. 'I'll leave you two to see these students retire immediately. And no more high jinks! Goodnight!'

_x_

'Are you sure you don't want us to come and help?'

Harry stopped and looked across at Ron.

'Well … maybe not _help_, exactly …' Ron started to redden with embarrassment.

Ron and Hermione were walking Harry down to Dumbledore's tomb. They had decided to start out just 'getting some fresh air', then they would say Harry must have felt he was something of a third wheel and wandered off, should anyone ask.

'I told you, Dumbledore wants as few people there as possible, in case we almost blow the place up again, like last time.' Harry's eyes did a rapid sweep of the grounds.

'Has Dumbledore said who the Ravenclaw descendant is yet?'

'No,' sighed Harry, trying to quell his anxiety. Hermione had thrown that question at him each time they had bumped into each other over the past several days – in the library, over breakfast, in the Charms corridor and even as Harry was coming out of the boy's bathroom, but since the only contact Harry had had with Dumbledore had been notification of the date they would attempt to destroy the Ravenclaw Horcrux, he hadn't been able to enlighten her at all.

'Give it a rest, Hermione,' Ron cut in before she could try a different approach.

They were almost at the lake; Harry withdrew his wand.

'Are you _sure_ you don't want us to come?'

'Ron, stop badgering him!'

Harry's stomach began its familiar gymnastic routine as he pressed the ring into the eye socket. It winked up at him in the rays of the setting sun. He looked up, focusing on a point just past the end of the tomb.

'How did you know where I was standing?' Ginny let Harry's Invisibility Cloak drop to her shoulders.

'_Keep covered!'_ Ron glanced anxiously around the grounds as he tried to pull the Cloak back up over her head.

'OK, keep you hair on! Here you go, Harry.' Ginny's arm appeared midair, holding a sword. 'Now,' her voice shook slightly, 'will you please go before Ron has apoplexy?'

'I am _not_ having apoplexy!'

Harry shook his head at their bickering.

'Are you going to be OK?' Hermione glanced at him nervously.

'Yeah,' Harry donned what he hoped was a brave-looking grin. 'I've survived worse.' His little finger twitched. Gripping Gryffindor's sword firmly, he had his wand pressed against the ring before Ron and Ginny realised what was going on.

Amidst cries of 'Good luck' and an almost bone-crunching thump of encouragement from Ron, Harry allowed the Portkey to hook him into its colourful journey.

_x_

'You're late, Potter.'

Harry frowned. Why was Snape here? Had Dumbledore brought him in to save Harry's life again? And where was the Ravenclaw heir?

'What are you doing here?' Harry returned Snape's glare.

Snape's eyes glittered. 'I am here at the headmaster's invitation, as are you.' The cold voice betrayed a belief that he felt that Harry should not consider himself in any way equal.

'Where's Ravenclaw's descendant?' Harry asked Dumbledore, eyeing Snape testily.

'You're looking at him.'

Harry's head shot around. 'What?'

Dumbledore's moustache twitched. 'May I present the only surviving child of the late Eileen Prince-Snape, last remaining descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw.'


	20. Chapter 20: Shattered Secrets

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY –**

**Shattered Secrets**

Harry felt his jaw drop. 'But he was Head of Slytherin.'

'And Gryffindor was the Sorting Hat's first choice for you, was it?' Dumbledore watched Harry closely.

Harry felt his face start to grow warm. He shot a quick glance at Snape. 'But he's a Death Eater!'

Snape tensed.

'We have had this discussion before, Harry, and my reply remains the same. I trust Severus,' he said calmly. 'That should be sufficient for you.'

'Well it isn't!' Harry slammed his hand down hard on the kitchen table. He was aware of Snape glaring at him. 'Why? Why do you trust him? He was in Slytherin, he's a Death Eater, he told Voldemort – ' (Snape's eyes flashed) ' – about me, and he's still running around with him. I don't care if he saved your life. One good thing doesn't cancel out a whole lifetime of bad.'

'That's where you're wrong, Harry,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'If the deed is humble enough – '

'He's fooling you!' Harry felt almost like he was going to explode. He struggled to contain his anger.

Dumbledore gazed at him across the charged silence. 'I trust Severus,' he said again.

'_Well, I don't!'_ Harry snatched the ring off the table. 'And I'm not working with him. If he really is the Ravenclaw heir, he'll just have to destroy the Horcrux by himself.' Harry touched the ring with his wand.

'_Nitwit, odd – '_

'_OH, GO AHEAD AND TELL HIM!'_ barked Snape.

Dumbledore gazed at Snape for several minutes as if trying to assess the sincerity of his offer. Finally, he drew a shaky breath.

'You'd best take a seat, Harry,' the headmaster's quiet voice broke the silence, 'this will take some explaining.' He indicated the chairs on the other side of the table.

Watching Snape warily, Harry sat down. He really didn't think Dumbledore could say anything to make him change his opinion, but if he was going to learn more secrets about Snape, then it would be worth being co-operative.

Once he was settled, Dumbledore began.

'When Severus first came to Hogwarts, he had already been subjected to several years of witnessing his Muggle father abusing his mother because she was a witch.' (Harry glanced at Snape brooding in the corner, remembering the vision from their Occlumency classes.) 'So he began school very eager to prove himself and rise above his circumstances at home. That is why the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin.

'The first years placed in Slytherin that year, which was the year both of your parents also started at Hogwarts, included Lucius Malfoy, Darius Goyle, and Bellatrix Black. Severus worked very hard to hide the fact that he wasn't a full-blood wizard in order to win the friendship of his housemates; and after years of being ostracised because of his 'freakish' mother, he was very keen to have friends who liked him.' Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. 'Not unlike your feelings when you began, Harry.'

Harry's eyes narrowed. If Dumbledore was wanting to convince him that he and Snape were the same, then he was definitely fighting a losing battle.

Ignoring Snape pacing near the fireplace, Dumbledore continued. 'This group of friends introduced Severus to the darker side of magic, and between them, they formed a kind of club, running contests amongst themselves, trying to invent darker and darker spells. Severus, because of his ancestry, was always a very bright student and was able to consistently come up with the best, or should I say worst, curses. This led his friends to assume he was as pure-bred as themselves, so they never questioned his background.

'All was' (he paused slightly) '_well_ until their sixth year. That was when Bellatrix started dating Rodolphus Lestrange, a seventh-year student whose brother, Rabastan, was a Death Eater. Bear in mind, Harry, that Voldemort's Reign of Terror had not long begun, and all the students at Hogwarts had been following events in such publications as the _Daily Prophet_ quite closely, most with increasing concern and fear; but several of the Slytherin students were keen to share in the power Voldemort was demonstrating.

'Unfortunately, they got their chance that Christmas. Sirius's mother – very much a supporter of Voldemort's beliefs, and wishing to further his cause – invited several of Bellatrix's friends to Grimmauld Place for the holiday. Severus was unable to attend, as he was to remain at Hogwarts and we had not received permission from his parents that he could leave.

'When the others returned, they were full of news about how to join Voldemort's supporters. Rodolphus had even been initiated into the ranks of the Death Eaters and had instructions to find out as much as he could about the Order of the Phoenix, since we were starting to make our presence felt.' The silver moustache twitched.

'Now Severus, seeing his friends slipping away from him, hurriedly declared his support for Voldemort, and as soon as he had finished his seventh year, got Lucius to arrange a meeting in which Severus provided Voldemort with more valuable information about the Order than Rodolphus had. Voldemort was impressed with Severus's value as a spy, and he accepted him into his ranks.'

Snape had stopped pacing and was staring distantly into the fire.

'Everything continued along for several years. Voldemort increased in power, and the Death Eaters began jostling for position, trying to be seen as almost, if not as, important and powerful as their master. Most of them relied heavily upon their family histories, having been raised in extremely snobbish environments; so a young man who didn't have a well-known name was most flattered when he was singled out by Voldemort to do some brewing.'

He paused as Snape gripped the mantelpiece so tightly his knuckles were white. Taking a breath, Dumbledore continued.

'Severus was the one who developed the potion which sustained Voldemort's strength despite his deteriorating body.'

Harry was on his feet, across the room and forcing Snape back against the pantry door before he realised he had even moved. 'You kept him _alive_?' he shouted, hating Snape more in that moment than he had when he chased him through the grounds of Hogwarts last year. Snape just stared at Harry, his eyes daring him to make him pay most dearly for his sins.

'Sit down, please, Harry.' Despite his polite words, Dumbledore's voice held a slight bite which betrayed his intolerance of the interruption.

Giving Snape one last glare, Harry returned to the table, righted his fallen chair and sat down, staring sullenly at Dumbledore.

'Severus's potion did _not_ keep Voldemort alive - the Horcruxes did that; all the potion did was maintain his strength.' Dumbledore waited for Harry to nod his acceptance of this statement.

Harry obliged grudgingly, feeling he was somehow apologising for his attack.

Dumbledore's quiet voice once more cut through the thick silence. 'Now, Voldemort was beginning to be greatly annoyed by the Order of the Phoenix who, despite being outnumbered, were starting to succeed in reducing the ranks of Death Eaters; a general is only as strong as the army he commands, and if there is no army, he loses his strength. So he decided to place his most successful spy at Hogwarts - both to gather information about the Order, and to try to get at me.

'That is why Severus was at the Hog's Head Inn that evening. He had merely been trying to meet with me and lodge his application for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts; I was, after all, looking for yet another teacher. Little did he suspect that he would learn of the imminent arrival of Voldemort's destroyer.

'Now, part of the deal for placing Severus at Hogwarts was that, if he could eliminate me or enable Voldemort to do so, he would be given his choice of reward. Several Death Eaters were extremely jealous of his favourable position and this, in turn, brought with it dangers he was not prepared to face. The promised reward would eliminate those dangers.

'So when he overheard Sybill, he realised I was no longer the most dangerous threat to Voldemort. Naturally, he couldn't rush back to his master quickly enough to pass on this vital information.

'I, in the meantime, took Professor Trelawney onto my payroll for her own protection and warned both Neville's and your parents of the possible role their unborn children might play in Voldemort's downfall.

'Severus, after telling his master of the prophecy, returned to lodge his application for employment as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, only to find that I had already succeeded in filling the post. Lord Voldemort was not at all pleased to discover that his spy had missed the chance to infiltrate the school and punished him by refusing to allow him to continue to act as spy. As you can imagine, several of the Death Eaters were pleased to witness Severus's fall from grace, especially when Voldemort started to place his trust in them, ordering them to uncover the identity and whereabouts of a male child born at the end of July.

'Almost a year passed before the unfortunate day came when Lucius Malfoy proudly announced to his master that your mother had given birth to a son on the last day of the previous July. While Voldemort did not share this information with the other Death Eaters, or even explain to Lucius Malfoy why his news was so important, he did reveal to Severus that Lucius had succeeded where he had failed, probably to remind Severus of his ineptitude as a competent spy.

'When Severus discovered this, he panicked.' Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore raised a blackened finger to stop him. 'As I told you in your third year, Harry, Severus had a life debt to your father; and if James was murdered, as Severus knew he would be (he would certainly fight to the death to protect his son), then Severus would die a thousand most painful deaths.'

Harry stared disbelievingly at Dumbledore. 'So Snape betrayed Voldemort because he was a weak coward?'

Something smashed over in the corner. Turning, Harry saw Snape's hand buried in the middle of a broken teapot on the dresser; he seemed oblivious to the small trail of blood starting to drip to the floor. Harry stared at him, watching countless emotions chase each other across his face, until the Potions master grabbed a tea towel, wrapped it around his hand and stalked wordlessly from the room, slamming the door with enough force it woke Mrs Black; they heard her screams rising higher and higher in pitch.

'You are determined to believe the worst of Severus, aren't you?' sighed Dumbledore, shaking his head as he buried his face in his hands.

Harry felt a slight pang of guilt as he watched Dumbledore struggling to maintain his strength. 'Look, Professor,' he ventured, 'you should really by lying down or something; you don't need to be explaining Snape's actions, not to me.'

Dumbledore lowered his hands enough to gaze at Harry. For a moment, he looked very tempted to accept the offer, but then sighed once more and straightened up. 'No, Harry. You asked a question, I have been given permission to answer, and so I shall; but first let me run a scenario by you.

'You considered becoming an Auror, correct?' (Harry nodded.) 'Imagine that the Ministry has passed legislation that only those who can trace their ancestry back two hundred years without encountering a single Muggle are eligible to become Aurors, and the Ministry does not yet know the details of your lineage. Would you make them aware that you maternal grandparents were Muggles?'

Harry didn't hesitate. 'No.'

Dumbledore went on. 'Your friend, Ronald, also wants to be an Auror, and has been accepted into the training course. Would this make you even more determined to bend rules and keep secrets in order to become an Auror?'

Again, there was no contest. Harry wasn't certain where all this was leading, but he was happy to play along.

'Once you have completed your training, you are placed under the command of Alastor Moody who, you are aware, has well earned the nickname "Mad", and demonstrates this by getting you to engage in some very questionable practices in order to track down Death Eaters and bring them to justice. Would you follow orders?'

'Yes,' Harry replied firmly. 'If it means I would be able to capture Death Eaters – yes.'

Dumbledore waited a moment before continuing. 'Over time, Alastor proves that he has lost all faith in the Wizengamot, the Ministry and Rufus Scrimgeour, and decides to take the law into his own hands. Instead of arresting Death Eaters and bringing them to trial, he starts indiscriminately killing Death Eaters and those doing Voldemort's bidding – including Mr Stan Shunpike and Madam Rosmerta, who had been under the Imperious Curse. 'And he orders you to do the same. Would you?'

Harry stared at Dumbledore. That one was tougher. He would have no objections to killing true Death Eaters if the alternative was letting the fools at the Ministry let them get away, but what about the ones who were enchanted or bullied with threats to loved ones? It wasn't even enough to judge by the house the suspect had been in; Peter Pettigrew hadn't been in Slytherin. And then there was the fact that the Sorting Hat had wanted to place Harry in Slytherin. What if it hadn't been persuaded to change – would that automatically make him evil just because several of his housemates were?

Before Harry had a chance to reply, Dumbledore added, 'Bear in mind, also, that Alastor's mental stability has deteriorated to the point where, if you don't do your duty completely or you try to tender your resignation, he will subject yourself and those dearest to you to an hour each of the Cruciatus curse, before then killing you all. So not only would your own life be forfeit, so would the lives of Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom.'

Harry felt like he had been backed into a corner. Yes, he would be prepared to die if it meant depriving Moody of an accomplice, even suffer torture beforehand; but he wouldn't want his friends to suffer the same fate if he had the power to prevent it.

'OK, so Snape might have got himself into something which turned suddenly nasty before he realised it, but all his friends were also Death Eaters, so Voldemort wouldn't have used that threat. Snape was either very happy to do as Voldemort said, or too gutless to face a painful death.' Harry wasn't going to admit defeat.

'Eileen was still alive,' said Dumbledore softly; Harry flushed. 'But we are not discussing the Snapes at present. Now, would you be prepared to sentence your friends to the aforementioned fate?'

Reluctantly, Harry shook his head.

'No,' Dumbledore smiled sadly. 'And what would you do if Alastor suddenly decided, in his paranoia, that the only food he could trust not to be poisoned, were meals prepared by yourself?' He raised a brow in question.

'I'd cook for him.' Harry's voice was flat.

'Now picture, if you will, that Alastor has offered you a way to protect your friends. If you provide him with information which leads to Voldemort's destruction, he will let your friends safely leave the country and not pursue them.

'Here, finally, is a way you can help them. If you do what Moody asks, you will be able to get your friends beyond the reach of Alastor and your colleagues; for several of the other Aurors, jealous of the attention you have been receiving, have begun to pose a threat also.

'You start to throw yourself into your work with renewed vigour, finally seeing an end in sight because, once your friends are safe, you will have no qualms about defying Alastor and risking your own death. It would be a just price to pay for being foolish enough to make the mistake of swearing loyalty to Alastor in the first place. You were young, inexperienced, wanted to keep your friends, and it all was rather like a game to begin with, hunting down Death Eaters. And you do dislike Death Eaters.'

He gave a slight cough. 'Could you please make me a cup of tea, Harry? My throat is rather dry from all this talking.'

Harry waved his wand several times; the teapot repaired itself, accepted some tea from the caddy, then filled itself from the kettle boiling over the fire. Two teacups, a lemon slicing itself as it flew, and cream and sugar soared from their shelves and landed on the table just as the teapot arrived to pour out.

Throughout this ritual, Harry had a closed look on his face. He had been doing a lot of thinking during Dumbledore's narrative. He still wanted to hate Snape, and blame him for everything which had happened, but a niggly voice in the back of his head wouldn't let him do so quite as strongly as before. When he examined the source of this voice more closely, he realised it was pity.

Looking up, he saw Dumbledore watching him closely. 'It's all right, Professor, you can keep telling me the story from Snape's point of view; I'll be able to follow it.'

Dumbledore took a few sips of his tea. 'As you have rightly surmised, Severus was ordered to Hogwarts on the promise that, if he could somehow bring about my death, he would be allowed to get Eileen safely out of Britain. He would probably die, and quite painfully, when he then told Voldemort he no longer wished to be a Death Eater, but at least his mother would be safe.

'That is why he betrayed an unborn child, for that's all you were; Severus did not know at that point exactly _who_ the unborn child was. When he discovered your identity, all he could think of were the thousand painful deaths.

'You've experienced the Cruciatus curse, Harry, as well as the pain when Voldemort possessed you the night Sirius died. Do you think you could endure that again and again, a thousand times over, keeping in mind that the Longbottoms were only subjected to a hundred curses between them to bring them to their present state of mind?'

Harry thought of Neville's parents in St Mungo's. Slowly, as much as he hated to admit it, he shook his head.

'Do you think Neville would be prepared to endure it?'

Harry frowned slightly at the sudden sidestep. 'No.'

'And would you consider him a coward for it?'

So _that's_ where Dumbledore was going with this. 'No,' mumbled Harry, feeling abashed.

Dumbledore nodded. 'And rightly so. Even the strongest, bravest person would shy away from such a death, especially if given a choice. So despite your earlier statement, Severus Snape was neither weak nor cowardly when he made the decision to end it all – as swiftly, cleanly and painlessly as he knew how.'

Swift, clean and painless? Was Dumbledore saying what Harry thought? 'Snape tried to _kill_ himself?'

Dumbledore nodded sadly. 'He would be dead soon, so why postpone it? And this way he would die on _his_ terms, not Voldemort's.

'So it was that I found Severus standing just beyond the Whomping Willow's reach, his wand pressed against his heart, and starting to utter the word "_Avada_". I was so stunned, I almost didn't disarm him in time.

'It then took some work to get him to tell me why he was trying to commit suicide. He was in quite a state by the time he finished telling me the whole, sorry story; his panic was setting in again.

'But I managed to get him to calm down when I pointed out that, as he had provided me with information which would enable James to go into hiding, thus saving his life, Severus's debt to James was null and void. He, however, now owed a life debt to me as I had just save Severus's life.'

'Why was he near the Whomping Willow?'

'He intended for his death to look like an accident, as any appearance of defiance against Voldemort would place his mother in danger once more. By standing near the Willow, he would fall into its range, ensuring that his body would be beaten severely enough for him to have suffered fatal injuries. His wand would also be broken, making it impossible for his death to be proved as anything other than accidental.'

Dumbledore leant back in his chair and sipped his tea, regarding Harry who didn't quite know what to say.

He tried to look at it from Snape's point of view. If someone whom he really hated, say Malfoy, had a life debt hold over him, and as a result of something which Harry couldn't prevent, he was going to die a thousand 'most painful' deaths, would he opt for a quicker way out? Probably. After all, why should he suffer for Malfoy?

So if something happened to suddenly remove the threat of those deaths, he would be so grateful, he would probably offer his soul to demonstrate his thanks. Narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore, he asked, 'What deal did you cook up?'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over his half-moon glasses. 'Nice to see your brain has finally decided to start working again; you were being led so strongly by your emotions, I thought I would never successfully explain things.'

He took another sip. 'An unhoped-for opportunity lay before me. Here was a Death Eater from Voldemort's inner circle, whom Voldemort himself had previously ordered to Hogwarts, offering himself to me. He would have the freedom to go between the two without rousing his former master's suspicions and thus was perfectly placed to be a double agent.

'So, letting Voldemort think that I merely remembered that Severus had expressed an interest in teaching when I was looking for a new employee, I took Severus onto my staff, but teaching Potions – I thought it would be tempting fate too much to let him too near the Dark Arts.'

Harry snorted into his teacup. 'And you didn't want to lose him after a year.'

'Actually, I believe Voldemort may have made an exception and lifted his curse for the duration.

'Anyway, I also realised how imperative it was to hide you. James and Lily were most anxious to protect you since you had recently started to suffer nightmares and were therefore willing to act upon any suggestion I put forward which might increase that protection.'

Briefly, a little boy reached up shakily from Harry's memory; the night at his parent's grave seemed a lifetime ago.

'So your parents agreed to a Secret Keeper.' Dumbledore's voice cracked slightly; he took another sip.

'I offered to take on the role, but James wouldn't hear of it. He said he couldn't think of anyone better than Sirius. Even though I suspected that there was a spy in the Order – information Severus was supplying me with from Voldemort's end pointed to it – James was adamant that Sirius was above reproach.

'As history has since revealed, events did not follow as originally planned.'

Harry felt his heart tighten slightly. 'Why didn't Snape tell you about Wormtail, if he was spying for you and not Voldemort?' He still tried to hate Snape for the fact that his parents were dead.

Dumbledore sighed. 'Because Severus was unaware of Peter's allegiance to Lord Voldemort. He hadn't been an overly important Death Eater, and was only promoted to Voldemort's inner circle once it became necessary to discover your location. He was also a means for Lord Voldemort to check the accuracy and authenticity of the information Severus was starting to pass to him.' The moustache twitched yet again. 'As I told you last year, Voldemort trusts no one.'

Harry still wasn't totally convinced. 'But how do you know you can trust Snape? How do you know he hasn't been playing you all along, on Voldemort's orders?'

'Because he made an Unbreakable Vow, swearing allegiance to myself: to be my agent within the ranks of Death Eaters, and to bring me every piece of information he could, no matter how insignificant it might seem, and to do everything within his power, whilst guarding his position as a double agent, to protect you.'

Harry stared, stunned, at Dumbledore. He couldn't … _wouldn't _… believe this last revelation. There had to be some argument against it. _Unbreakable Vow?_ 'But he made an Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother that he would protect Malfoy while he was trying to kill you –'

'The Unbreakable Vow' Dumbledore cut across him, 'does not work by invalidating previous Vows. The oldest Vow stands true until the circumstances which it governs no longer exist, one of the parties dies, or both parties agree to dissolve the Vow.'

Realisation dawned on Harry's face. 'So that's why ...'

Dumbledore frowned quizzically. 'That's why what?'

Harry flushed guiltily; Dumbledore's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'Er, Hagrid told us he overheard you and Snape arguing last year; Snape said he didn't want to do something anymore, and you told him he'd agreed to it and that's all there was to it. That's what you were arguing about, isn't it? Snape wanted to back out of the Vow.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Yes, Severus was feeling a little reluctant to continue following my orders. But as I reminded him at the time, he had_ promised_, and that promise still held true as much as when he first made it, no matter how much time had passed. I wasn't aware we had an audience,' he muttered, running his finger around the rim of his empty teacup.

'And you still trust him?' asked Harry. 'He wants to back out of having to do as you say. The only reason he would want to do that is so he can properly work for Voldemort.'

'That's where you're wrong, Harry.' Dumbledore was still gazing at his cup. 'It was only one specific order which Severus did not wish to follow and the only way he could avoid doing so was to terminate our agreement.'

Harry snorted. 'What did you tell him to do – stop Malfoy?' He could easily see Snape being reluctant to bring Malfoy to task.

'No,' Dumbledore looked up and held Harry's gaze. 'I ordered him to kill me.'

Harry looked dubious. 'And he didn't want to?' then answered himself, 'Of course – the life debt.' _The coward!_

Dumbledore seemed to read his mind. 'He wasn't being cowardly. He was trying to protect you.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Snape doesn't want to protect me. He's made my life a living hell since we first met. He hates me, just like he hated my father. He's hated me since I started at Hogwarts.'

Dumbledore smiled, indulgently in Harry's opinion. 'And when exactly has he ever done you harm?'

Harry stared at Dumbledore, momentarily dumbstruck. 'All those detentions he gave me; all the points he took off Gryffindor; turning a blind eye whenever Malfoy tried to hurt me or Ron or Hermione –'

'That is not what I asked you, Harry,' Dumbledore interrupted. 'I did not wish you to regale upon all the times Severus used his position as professor to indulge in a little revenge for your father and his friends causing him grief when they were younger. What I asked was when has he ever done you harm?'

'When hasn't he?' argued Harry.

Dumbledore gazed at Harry for several moments, a slight spectre of disappointment in his eyes.

Sighing, he said, 'I see you are going to let your emotions win this round. Very well, I shall spell it out for you.

'Firstly, in your first year: when Professor Quirrell tried to make you suffer serious, if not fatal, injuries by trying to get your broomstick to throw you from a great height, you did _not _come to any harm because Professor Snape was casting the counter-curse.

'Secondly, in your second year: Professor Snape was the one who suggested that you and your friends were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time when Mr Filch's cat was Petrified. He knew that, after your severe infraction on the first day of school, I would have no choice but to suspend you from Hogwarts if there was even the slightest hint that you were still committing serious offences, and once you were no longer under my protection at school, you would be at great risk. So, to ensure your continued safety, he came to your defence.

'Thirdly, third year: it was Professor Snape who ensured that both yourself and your friends were safely taken to the hospital wing for treatment after your encounter with Peter Pettigrew and the Dementors.

'Fourth, in your fourth year: when your name was ejected from the Goblet of Fire, Severus argued against you competing in the Triwizard Tournament. He knew, as I did, that you were still too young to be skilled enough to have much chance of surviving the contest.

'Fifth, when Cornelius Fudge displayed a definite reluctance to believe you when you said that Voldemort had returned, Severus showed Cornelius the Dark Mark on his arm as proof that you were indeed speaking the truth. That act, especially, was extremely brave, as Fudge could have promptly ordered the Dementor to kiss Severus in an attempt to both protect himself from a Death Eater and remove a piece of solid evidence that our world was once more about to be plunged into great turmoil.

'Sixth.' Dumbledore counted his fingers. 'In your fifth year: after I had left Hogwarts (and was therefore no longer around to watch Severus and ensure he behaved properly), he deliberately gave Dolores Umbridge plain water when she requested a beaker of Veritaserum, correctly suspecting that she would use it upon you in order to discover both Sirius's and my whereabouts. He also was most unco-operative when she had yourself and your friends cornered in her office the day Sirius died. And he was the one who checked to see if Sirius was still here, and warned the Order of your possible movements, after you failed to return from the Forbidden Forest.'

'Even when you were chasing him through Hogwarts after my _murder_, Severus was still protecting you. After all, who was it who ordered the Death Eaters not to kill you, and claimed that you were to be kept alive for Voldemort? Certainly, Lord Voldemort would love the pleasure of being the one to kill you, but as he has now failed to achieve this on several occasions, I do not believe he would be too disappointed if someone else were to deprive him of that privilege. You would be dead, and that would be the important factor; not who had finally achieved the feat.

'And then, in July, even though Severus performed the Imperius and Cruciatus curse upon you to prevent both Voldemort and the other Death Eaters suspecting that he is anything but loyal to their cause, he was the one who secured Draco Malfoy's Portkey and enabled you to escape.'

'Although he presents a hard and emotionless face to the world, underneath he is very caring and concerned for other people's welfare.' Dumbledore gazed intently at Harry. 'I wish you could see Severus as I have, Harry. He demonstrated great care when treating Miss Bell after her accidental brush with Draco Malfoy's necklace, and the night I returned to Hogwarts after I had destroyed Lord Voldemort's ring Horcrux, he could quite easily have left me alone and allowed the curse I had encountered to destroy all of me, not just my hand. Instead, he halted the damage spreading through my body and was frustrated and angry with himself when he was unable to find a way to repair my hand, all the while being most gentle in his treatment of me. _Most_ gentle.' Dumbledore's pale blue eyes misted and he smiled slightly as he allowed himself to sink into remembrance.

Even though part of his mind was telling him that what Dumbledore had just said was true, Harry still stared at the former headmaster stubbornly. 'But he's still interested in the Dark Arts. You didn't hear his speech at the start of sixth year - he _loves_ that stuff.'

'Severus does not actually love the Dark Arts; what he loves is his brilliance at it. It took me a while, but I managed to prove to him that he is just as brilliant at Defence, helped immensely by his first-hand knowledge of the Dark Arts. Severus is very like Miss Granger. He needs to know not just _what_, but also why, how, what if, counter … basically everything there is to know about a topic, no matter what it takes to acquire that knowledge.

'That is why he was so angry during our discussion,' Dumbledore explained. 'He was already disgusted with himself because he had not been able to discover Mr Malfoy's plans – he hates failure,' (that certainly rang true) '– and then I ordered him to murder me.'

'If you think Snape is such a great Defence teacher, why did you deny him the job for so long?'

'Partly to protect him from the curse – Voldemort was no longer around to be able to lift it – but mostly because he really is brilliant at Potions, even better than Professor Slughorn.'

He sat back, quietly watching Harry and letting him mull over everything he had just learned. Harry, for his part, tried desperately to find some flaw, some reason to keep believing Snape was dangerous and had hoodwinked Dumbledore into trusting him.

But he couldn't find it. If Snape really was doing Voldemort's bidding, he wouldn't have let the opportunity of killing Dumbledore slip through his fingers. He wouldn't have even had to worry about the thousands deaths, because he would have cancelled out the debt when he saved Dumbledore from the ring's curse.

Determined not to let Snape win easily just yet, Harry jumped on the only thing which still showed Snape was only obeying Dumbledore because he was too afraid to face the consequences. 'I bet he wasn't too happy when you made him swear that Vow to ensure he wouldn't double-cross you.'

Dumbledore inclined his head quizzically. 'Actually, it was Severus's idea. He felt, after following Voldemort for so long, that it was necessary to prove to me that my trust in him would not be misplaced.'

He sighed tiredly. 'The Ravenclaw Horcrux can wait until tomorrow. Now, if you will excuse me,' he stood slowly, 'I need to find Severus and apologise for airing his dirty laundry so intimately.'

Allowing Harry to hold the door, he waved off any further assistance and began slowly to make his way up the staircase.

When Harry did finally get up to his room, he found a steaming goblet standing by his bed. '_Drink_,' the card perched against it said.

Harry eyed the goblet warily. Was this some kind of test to see if he had believed Dumbledore or not?

Every instinct was telling him not to touch the brew, but that niggly little voice at the back of his head was making itself heard as well. Snape _hadn't_ ever done him serious harm and had even helped on several occasions. Then there was the fact that Snape had saved Harry's life after he had destroyed the Hufflepuff Horcrux. Why would he have bothered to do that if he was then going to poison him at the first opportunity … and right under Dumbledore's nose? Snape would also take it as a personal affront that he might be thought incapable of brewing a Sleeping Potion correctly.

Harry assumed that was what had been left for him. Snape would surely have realised that, after everything Dumbledore had just told him, Harry would be spending the night tossing and turning.

He thought again about the test of faith. He had never yet successfully passed a test which Snape had set for him and Harry wasn't keen to add to the list.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he reached for the goblet and tossed the fiery liquid back in one gulp. As his eyes watered (it was almost as hot as Firewhisky), Harry's disquiet wasn't eased at all by the sound of Phineus Nigellus's portrait sniggering in the background.

Even though it was late-May, the next morning dawned dark and gloomy, almost as if the day knew what was about to happen and didn't want to be left out.

Snape greeted Harry with a cup of his special Wake-Up Tonic and the familiar sneer, his eyes darkening with angry disappointment as they fell upon the empty goblet from the night before but, since Dumbledore chose that moment to shuffle in on his way to the bathroom, there wasn't anything Snape could do about it except scowl.

Breakfast didn't improve the general mood. Snape refused to eat anything while trying to force Harry to consume a banquet only Hagrid could have gotten through and when Dumbledore came to Harry's aid, Snape exploded with such ferocity, even the former headmaster appeared frightened for a moment. So much for Dumbledore's assertions that Snape was 'most gentle'.

Harry gaped at Snape's retreating back as he stormed from the kitchen and it suddenly struck him.

_Snape was scared._

As satisfying as this knowledge should have been – Snape really was human like everyone else – Harry couldn't feel any elation. The cold lump firmly embedded in the pit of his stomach was hardening at an alarming rate; now that breakfast seemed to be over, the moment when he would have to confront the Horcrux loomed ever nearer.

'I don't think he got very much sleep last night,' Dumbledore remarked with a heavy sigh. He reached across and gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. 'Come. We need to get upstairs or Severus will try to begin without us.'

When they entered the drawing room, Harry's jaw dropped.

'Where's my stuff?' he demanded, staring accusingly at Snape. Not the wisest course with Snape's temper on such a short fuse.

'It's all right,' Dumbledore moved between the two foes, 'everything is, at present, safely stored downstairs in the dining room. Less chance of any injuries.'

The drawing room had been stripped of all its contents – furniture, lamps, rugs … everything. The walls and windows were completely covered with thick mattresses, so that the only light shone from the end of Snape's wand, and countless duvets stretched across the ceiling and floor. The only loose items were the sword, eagle, a silver knife and an extremely tall jug.

'Where did all this stuff come from?' Harry didn't recognise any of it.

'Remus has control of my estate. He used some of the money to purchase the items you see here at Muggle stores. So there is very little chance of it reacting to the magic in this room and attacking us.' Despite the silvery moustache twitching at the joke, the grave anxiety in Dumbledore's eyes spoke louder than his words, stressing the need to minimise risks as much as possible.

Confident that Dumbledore's presence would keep Harry under control, Snape had just helped his mentor to sit comfortably upon the well-padded floor when the doorbell echoed through the house, waking Mrs Black. Snape exchanged a wary glance with Dumbledore before moving a mattress a fraction and peering down at the street. His back tensed.

'It's Lupin,' he informed Dumbledore through very stiff lips.

Dumbledore visibly relaxed. 'The more, the merrier,' he said.

Snape's face darkened as he strode from the room. Harry was pretty sure he had wanted to keep Lupin languishing, ignored, on the doorstep.

Once they returned upstairs, Remus explained that he had some news for Dumbledore, but didn't sound very sure of himself as he gazed around the room.

'It's all right, Remus,' said Dumbledore. 'We were about to have another go at the Ravenclaw Horcrux, so it is rather fortuitous that you are here in case you need to rescue us again.'

Snape's lip curled as Lupin settled himself next to Dumbledore, then he knelt in the centre of the room, signalling for Harry to kneel opposite him, the sword and eagle between them. Watched closely by Dumbledore, Harry and Lupin, Snape shook back the sleeve of his robes and cut a long gash along his arm, allowing his dark blood to spurt forth into the jug. Once he was satisfied that he had donated sufficient blood, he quickly healed the wound with a touch of his wand.

His newly-healed arm shot out and grabbed Harry's in a tight grip, the other pushing the sleeve up and slashing the skin before Harry had a chance to even offer, let alone take care of the task himself.

'_Aargh!_'

Snape's smile was cruel, smug.

'Severus,' Dumbledore's voice held a warning tone. Snape ignored him, turning his attention to swishing the jug which Harry had just bled into.

Harry threw Snape a sour look as he picked up his wand and healed the cut with the charm Dumbledore had taught him at Easter.

Snape halted mid-swill. 'Where did you learn to do that?'

'You are not the only teacher to have been employed at Hogwarts, Severus.'

Snape's furrowed brow turned towards Dumbledore. For a moment, Harry thought he might try to use Legilimency to discover Dumbledore's meaning.

'That spell is not on the curriculum.'

'Neither is Sectumsempra,' Dumbledore held Snape's gaze. 'Yet at least two students had learnt to perform it while studying at Hogwarts. As a teacher yourself, you should know that curriculums contain only a very small portion of everything which we shall ever learn. Life teaches us also.' He leaned forwards. 'And the lesson you need to learn from life today is how to happily work with Harry towards a common goal.' The moustache twitched.

Harry thought Dumbledore was asking the impossible. He might be able to order Snape to work with him without stuffing up but ordering him to be happy while he was doing it was going too far. And judging by the murderous look on Snape's face, he thought it was an impossible ask, too.

'Look upon the Horcrux as a Dementor, gentlemen.' Dumbledore beamed at them. 'Happy thoughts.'

Harry wasn't too thrilled at being included in the order. He was also pretty sure his idea of a happy thought was completely opposite to Snape's. All he wanted was for this to be over. If that qualified as a happy thought, so be it. Personally, Harry wasn't sure he was even going to be there when it was all over. He had only just scraped through last time and this was gearing up to be even worse.

Meeting Snape's eyes, Harry was surprised to see his doubts reflected there.

'Is everything ready, Severus?'

At Snape's curt nod, Harry gripped his wand tighter.

'Then begin.'

Happy thoughts were the last thing Harry cared about as he dipped Gryffindor's sword into the tall jug. He felt the first waves of pain as he repeated the words of the Drawing Charm and aimed the ancient sword above the golden bird's neck. His scar burned as he swung the sword towards the gold feathers, the pain almost as bad as the night Voldemort had possessed him.

_Horcrux Exsilium!_

Harry's vision blurred. At first, he thought it was because of the pain, but then he realised he was peering through artificial lenses. He impatiently snatched a pair of spectacles from his nose and his surroundings came into focus. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the two men before him. Anger boiled deep inside him as he knew betrayal.

'_Traitor_,' Harry spat at Snape. '_So this is the payment I receive for keeping you hidden from those who would do you harm. Treachery and deceit. You are as worthless as your weak mother. And as foolish. She did not know the true meaning of loyalty, but she learnt it before I killed her. As shall you.'_

Harry glanced lazily across at Dumbledore. '_You think you own him? You have made many mistakes in your pathetic life, old man, but this is the biggest. He belongs to me. And here is the proof!_' He grabbed Snape's left arm and tore the sleeve, ripping it along the seam until he found it, the most beautiful piece of artwork burned into the pale skin like a brand. He pressed his wand against it, making it burn hotter, summoning those who were loyal to him. Snape's screams echoed in his ears as Dumbledore, in a display of strength which belied his frailty, kicked out, making his wand fly across the room.

Harry dived at Dumbledore, hands squeezing the old fool's throat, as the sound of strangled choking mixed with Snape's screams and Harry's high-pitched laughter.

'Harry.'

Somebody slapped his cheek. 'Harry.'

Harry slowly opened his eyes. Remus Lupin's pale face swam into view. Harry frowned. Did Lupin just hit him? And what was he doing on the floor? He tried to sit up, but fell back with a groan as his head felt like it was going to explode.

'Stay down, Harry.' Lupin gently pressed a cool cloth against his forehead.

Harry closed his eyes. This was becoming too familiar, waking up to find either Lupin or Snape leaning over him.

'Snape?'

'He's fine. You just concentrate on getting yourself better.'

'How long were we out for this time?'

'Only a few minutes.'

Harry's eyes few open. 'What?' He struggled to sit up again.

'Keep him over there!' barked Snape.

Harry blinked at the scene in front of him. Snape was over near the far wall, his back to them, leaning over a prostrate body wearing deep purple robes.

'Dumble –'

'Stay back!' Snape pointed his wand at Harry, pure venom in his eyes. Harry shrank back, startled.

'Dumbledore is still alive, Harry; you didn't kill him.'

Harry gazed at Lupin in bewilderment. 'What do you mean _I _didn't kill him? Didn't the eagle explode again?' He glanced around for the statue and spotted the severed head several feet away; of the body, there was no sign.

Before Lupin could explain, Dumbledore groaned, 'How much do you remember, Harry?'

'Don't talk!' snapped Snape, unscrewing the lid of a wide jar and starting to smear copious amounts of a thick yellow paste onto Dumbledore's neck.

'I remember saying the first line of the spell and my scar burning like crazy.' Harry answered Dumbledore, earning a murderous glare from Snape. 'I take it we managed to destroy the Horcrux?'

Nobody answered him. Snape slowly helped Dumbledore into a sitting position, being careful to keep himself between the former headmaster and Harry.

Harry wondered why Snape was in such a sour mood. Was it because his family's heirloom had been destroyed? Or because Harry knew Snape's deepest secrets? He glanced at Lupin confused.

'What happened?'

'You really don't remember?' Lupin watched him closely.

'Remember what?' Harry threw back, starting to feel angry. 'Why is everybody acting like I just tried to kill Dumbledore?'

'Because you _did _just try to kill Dumbledore,' Lupin said softly.

Harry stared at him. He had to be joking, surely. 'What? Why would I –?'

'Here, let me at him.' Snape roughly pushed Lupin aside and gripped both sides of Harry's head tightly. Harry glanced uncertainly at Dumbledore.

'Don't fight him, Harry.'

'_Don't talk!_'

Dumbledore rolled his eyes behind Snape's back, making Harry grin; not very wise considering Snape was about to dive into his mind.

The room shimmered before his eyes. Every instinct wanted to throw up massive barriers between himself and Snape but Dumbledore had said not to. He fought hard not to cringe as memories of the Dursleys abusing him as a very small child, memories buried so deeply he had long forgotten them, flashed before his eyes. Then he was diving at Dumbledore, pure rage coursing through every vein –

Harry jumped, making Snape let go. No wonder Snape had been treating him like a pariah. He had attacked –

'It wasn't your fault, Harry.' Lupin was squeezing his hand. 'You weren't yourself.' He smiled reassuringly.

Past his shoulder, Harry could see Dumbledore writing something on a sheet of parchment and wondered what was going on.

Lupin noticed him frown. 'Snape won't let him talk yet,' he whispered as Dumbledore tore the note in two and passed it to Snape and Lupin.

'_Why am I being confined to this house?_'

'Probably because Voldemort knows you're not really working for him,' Lupin told Snape as he read his own note. Harry peered over his shoulder, but Dumbledore merely wanted Remus to explain what his news was. So, as Snape stood near where the tapestry had been, his face darker than the souls of the people whose embroidered names had once hung behind him, Lupin told them what was going on.

'Borgin has been murdered,' he began without preamble. He waited a moment as each of them reacted in their own way. Snape stiffened, his black eyes darting to Dumbledore, who had gone quite still, the pale blue eyes wary as he gazed up at Lupin. Harry felt like someone had dowsed him with ice water. He kept thinking of what Dumbledore had told him about Borgin's partner, Burke and wondered if this had also been retaliatory.

'Was the Dark Mark above the store?' whispered Dumbledore with a sly glance at Snape's thunderous expression.

'No.' Lupin frowned. 'The Ministry is treating it as a robbery gone wrong. The place was like a disaster zone; whoever broke in obviously set off that alarm you mentioned. That's probably what woke Borgin. He was found near the door leading up to his flat.'

'Was anything taken?'

'The Aurors are currently going through the shop's records, but the only thing unaccounted for so far is that.' Lupin pointed at the eagle's severed head. 'They seem to think that the burglar broke in, grabbed the bird first because it was the most valuable thing in the place and set off the alarm. Then Borgin turned up, the burglar panicked, killed him and took off before the authorities showed up.'

'And the Ministry's suspicions are not being drawn elsewhere?' Snape's eyes narrowed.

'No,' said Lupin. 'They're convinced Death Eaters weren't involved because there wasn't any Dark Mark. The only thing which puzzled Scrimgeour, to begin with, was why anybody would rob the place since Borgin never had any qualms about selling to criminals, until someone pointed out that the price of the eagle would have been pretty prohibitive. Scrimgeour has now got a team researching the bird to try to pinpoint its potential market.' Lupin locked eyes with Snape. 'So don't be surprised if they try to pin Borgin's murder on you.'

Snape glared back but said nothing.

'Then there's a matter which seems to have completely escaped Ministry notice,' Lupin continued. 'A couple of Muggles were found dead at the base of a cliff down in Essex nearly a week ago. The Muggle authorities believe they fell; there was climbing equipment amongst their camping gear at the top of the cliff and their bodies were pretty broken, as if they had fallen from a fair height.'

'But?'

'Things don't add up. They were both professional climbers, so knew how to minimise risks, and their equipment was in top condition, not that they had a chance to use it. Even though the police concluded that they slipped while standing on the cliff's edge, assessing how best to proceed, there was no evidence of recently-loosened rocks or soil anywhere along the area above where their bodies were, the type of bruising suggests that they were dead before they hit the ground but the coroner could determine no other cause of death, there was no evidence of anybody else having been in the area which there should have been if their bodies had been dumped, and a merchant ship passing some distance out to sea reported seeing a bright green light.'

'In all, a very wizarding murder,' remarked Dumbledore, frowning. 'Anything else?'

'Yes. The location.' Lupin removed a page torn from a newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Dumbledore.

'What is it?' Harry gazed at it curiously. From what he could see of the back page, it looked like it had come from a Muggle newspaper, something called _The Faringdon Gazette_. 'Where's Faringdon?'

'It is a village where a group of orphans were taken on an outing.'

Harry felt a jolt of excitement as he gazed at Dumbledore. 'He's checking if the Horcruxes are OK.'

Dumbledore didn't beam back.

Harry's grin slipped a little. 'Aren't you happy? Voldemort's walking into our trap.'

Dumbledore squeezed his eyes closed and Harry was surprised to see a tear escape the corner. 'No, Harry,' he sighed softly, sounding extremely old. 'While I am pleased that our plan appears to be working, I am not happy.'

'Why not? We're a step closer to getting Voldemort.'

'And a step closer to Lord Voldemort possibly killing you,' whispered Dumbledore.

Harry stared at the old man sitting opposite him, suddenly cold. For almost seven years, Dumbledore's faith in him had never once faltered. Yet now, on the cusp of victory, he was stating … out loud … that Voldemort might succeed in killing Harry. Suddenly, all of Harry's own doubts about his ability intensified like crazy. He had always known that there was a chance he wouldn't survive this, especially in light of the last line of Professor Trelawney's prophecy, but to hear Dumbledore actually put it into words …

Harry backed away.

'What is it?' Lupin still had his arm behind Harry's back.

'You don't believe I can do this, do you?' Harry stared at Dumbledore.

'That is not what I said.'

'Not very like a Gryffindor, Potter, being … _afraid_.' Snape's eyes glittered maliciously.

'Go easy, Severus.' Lupin leapt to Harry's defence. 'You didn't have death bearing down on you when you were seventeen.'

'No, only when I was sixteen.' Snape's voice was the most dangerous Harry had ever heard it sound. The colour drained from Lupin's face so quickly, Harry was surprised he didn't faint.

'That will do!' croaked Dumbledore; his throat apparently hadn't completely recovered from Harry's attack. While this brought about a fresh wave of embarrassment for Harry, it also dragged Snape's murderous glare away from Lupin.

'I told you not to talk!'

'It might be better if you leave, Harry,' said Remus quietly, throwing Snape a cautious glance.

Harry weighed his options. He would prefer to stay so he could talk to Dumbledore about the next step now that Voldemort knew about them, but he really didn't want to be in the same building as Snape, especially while he was in his present mood; he had enough of that for six years. He decided to err on the side of cowardice.

Checking that Snape was definitely occupied with Dumbledore, Harry gathered up the sword, slowly got to his feet and allowed Lupin to lead him down to the kitchen.

'Is he going to be OK?' Despite knowing that this was the best course of action, Harry still felt guilty about leaving Dumbledore, especially in Snape's hands.

'Definitely.' Lupin grinned. 'Snape's always been happiest when he's madder than a wet Hippogriff.'

'I meant Dumbledore.'

'I know,' said Lupin. 'And the answer is the same. You just worry about yourself. And Harry –' he added as he gathered up the ring from the table and passed it to him, ' – good luck with your NEWTs.'


	21. Chapter 21: Much Worse than Nasty

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE –**

**Much Worse than Nasty**

Not for nothing were they called _Nastily Exhausting_. Harry had thought the OWLs were bad, but they had been a summer holiday compared to this. The Monday after the fifth Horcrux had been destroyed, the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examination schedules had been posted on the noticeboards in each of the dormitory common rooms. Harry and Ron were fortunate that they were only doing six subjects each; while their workload was well and truly loaded, it was nothing compared to Hermione's, not that it didn't stop her still finding time to organise a study schedule for each of them.

Alongside the exam timetable, there was also a list for seventh year interviews. Hermione explained that it was a chance for the top wizarding employers across Britain to check out what might be knocking on their doors over the summer, but when Harry walked in and discovered Umbridge running the Auror interviews, he promptly walked straight back out.

Things didn't improve when the exams began. At the end of the third day, two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff were admitted to the hospital wing suffering from 'apprehensive anxiety'. By morning, one of the Ravenclaws had been transferred to St Mungo's. Extreme alarm bordering on pure panic spread through the seventh-years at news of this development. Ravenclaw students were widely acknowledged as the brightest in the entire school (with the exception of Hermione), so exams like the NEWTs should seem quite simple for them. If one of them was so seriously worried about their ability to succeed that they ended up requiring the attention of professional Healers, there was no hope for any of them.

'They named these exams wrong,' groaned Ron as he sank onto the seat next to Harry and wearily reached for a plate of chicken casserole. 'They're _worse _than nasty.'

Hermione promptly launched into a post mortem of the first part of the Transfiguration exam they had just completed but Harry just gave non-committal grunts. He had decided he wouldn't let anyone realise just how much he had improved (Ron would scorn his friend joining the 'nerds' and Hermione would take it as an invitation to pile more work on him) so, as Ron let his nerves get the better of him and told Hermione off for making him think of the second half they were going to be doing that afternoon, Harry allowed himself to relax a little. He was pretty sure he had just gotten a hundred percent on the written exam – thanks entirely to Professor Capsworth and Dumbledore's tuition – and he felt confident he would be able to do them proud on the practical.

He _had _to do them proud. Even though there was still a chance he wouldn't survive his final confrontation with Voldemort (and even though Umbridge seemed to have a say in who was accepted into the Auror program), Harry was determined to think positively and plan for the future. A future where Voldemort was defeated and the Aurors were left with the task of tracking down and bringing his followers to justice.

Of all the professions on offer in this secret world, being an Auror was still the one which appealed to Harry the most. That was the only reason he had worked so hard these past months. If it hadn't been for the fact that he needed straight O's on his NEWTs, he would have withdrawn from school months ago and concentrated all of his efforts on fulfilling his 'destiny'. Even if he didn't make it past the end of the summer, being capable of achieving Outstandings at NEWT level had been excellent preparation for what he had yet to encounter.

Pushing his empty plate away, Harry glanced along the table and noticed Neville sitting alone at the far end, pouring over the set of books he had borrowed from Harry. Even though he had dropped Transfigurations at the start of sixth year, sparing him from doing an exam today, Neville still had Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow before the (supposed) break of the weekend.

Harry allowed himself a secret grin. He had promised to go over the exam paper with Neville tomorrow night to give him a rough idea of how he had gone but, if he performed like he had been in his private classes, he had it in the bag. He just had to make sure he didn't let his nerves get the better of him. And speaking of nerves …

Harry's heart started to beat a familiar tattoo as he joined the line of students heading over to the room behind the teachers' table to wait for the fifth-years to finish their Transfigurations practical exam so the seventh-years could then take their turn. He grabbed it with both hands, revelling in the rush of sharpness it gave him, confident that, no matter what the examiners threw at him, he would be equal to the task.

Nine minutes after Hermione had been called to take her turn, there was a loud bang and several startled cries, then the door to the Great Hall flew open. A sparrow with very frizzy feathers soared into the room and landed on Ron's head. It looked familiar.

'Get off!' he cried and tried to swat it away, but suddenly found himself face to face with Hermione, his hand caught in a tight grip, just as the examiners rushed to the door.

'Careful, Ron,' Hermione said. 'You could take someone's eye out.'

Ron didn't say anything or try to make her let go of his hand; he just stood there, staring at her stupidly.

Harry could sympathise. He was feeling pretty shocked himself. When did Hermione become an _Animagus_?

The examiners were likewise astounded.

'Never … in all my years of …'

'Where did you learn to do that?' blustered the second. 'Surely Patricia didn't teach …'

Only Professor Tofty didn't seem shocked, merely taken by surprise. And that was rapidly changing to amusement.

'Oh, that brings back memories,' he chuckled. 'I remember many years ago … it wouldn't be polite to say just how many … another young Gryffindor lady caused a similar sensation during her N.E.W.T examination when _she_ demonstrated her mastery of the Animagus transfiguration. A cat, wasn't it, Minerva?'

He glanced over his shoulder. McGonagall was standing in the doorway leading from the Great Hall out the to Entrance Hall, an odd expression on her face: a mixture of pride in her own ability and embarrassment that NEWT students now knew she had been a rebel in her youth.

'But is it _legal_?' a plump little witch named Professor Blankman wanted to know.

'Of course it's legal.' McGonagall seemed determined to make sure they all knew that, even if she had been unconventional, she had certainly not been a law-breaker, 'providing Miss Granger registers with the Ministry of Magic as soon as the school year is completed. You shall need to contact Meredith Westmore at the Improper Use of Magic Office. Tell her I said miaow.' Her normally stern lips twitched in a movement extremely reminiscent of Professor Dumbledore. 'Stop being such a worrywart, Fairweather. You don't honestly believe Animagi don't become so until they front up to Meredith's office, do you? Of course we need to get in some practice first.' She glanced at Hermione. 'How long have you been working at it, Granger?'

'A few weeks,' Hermione said quite coolly, though her face reddened slightly.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She didn't, however say anything more on the subject but simply nodded at the examiners, indicating the fuss was ended and they should all get back to their exams.

As soon as he completed his own prac, Harry went in search of Hermione. He hadn't had any trouble Transfiguring a reed flute into a nightingale, a pair of oysters into castanets and then earmuffs, or a rocking chair into an animated statue of a small girl. The chair's cushion had a scene embroidered on it depicting an eighteenth century couple and Harry had managed to dress the girl in the gown worn by the young woman. Theodore Nott of Slytherin, on the other hand, had made his statue without any clothes and the poor girl had spent ten minutes running around the Great Hall, screaming like a banshee, before Nott managed to hit her, blasting her into tiny pieces and covering everybody with stone chips and dust. While Harry couldn't say, definitely, that he had gotten Outstanding on his exam, he was pretty sure, judging by the furious looks on the examiners' faces as they cleaned up, that Nott had just gotten a 'T'.

Harry found Hermione in the library.

'What are you studying for; you know that stuff backwards?'

'I don't know it as well as you do.' Hermione earned a stern glare from Madam Pince for disturbing the silence of her precious library.

'I don't know why she's mad at me,' whispered Hermione as she glowered back. 'I'm not causing as much of a disturbance as _that_ lot.' She nodded towards a gaggle of sixth-year girls who were goggling and gossiping amongst themselves about Hermione's efforts with her Transfiguration exam. 'Honestly, you'd think I did something wrong, the way everybody's going on about it.'

'Well,' Harry sat himself down opposite her, 'you have to admit it was pretty unconventional, especially for you. You've always stuck to the letter of the law.'

'I didn't break the law,' Hermione pouted. 'Or didn't you hear what McGonagall said.'

'I heard her.' Harry checked that Hermione's fan club were out of earshot as he lowered his voice. 'I also heard you tell McGonagall you've only been doing it for a couple of weeks.'

Hermione tried to stare him down but the red face was something of a giveaway.

'Oh, OK; that was me last summer. How did you know?'

'I didn't.'

'But –' Hermione gaped at Harry. 'You called me by name.' Initial disbelief gave way to self-fury that she had allowed Harry to bluff her. 'You called me by _name_!'

'The frizzy feathers reminded me of you.' shrugged Harry, inwardly marvelling that he had managed to get one over on her.

Even though they couldn't hear the intercourse between the two friends, the gaggle seemed to find Hermione's reaction to what Harry said amusing, erupting into further giggles.

'Oh, this is ridiculous.' Hermione slammed her book shut; Madam Pince descended upon them. 'OK, OK; we're going!' she huffed irritably. 'Just keep that lot here until long after we leave.'

Harry stared at Hermione, feeling as stunned as the expression on Madam Pince's face that she was bossing a member of staff around.

'And if I catch any of you following us,' she jumped down the throats of the gigglers, 'I'll take points off!'

'So why a sparrow?' Harry still couldn't believe that his very straight-laced friend would do something so out of the ordinary.

'It's an unnoticeable creature.' Hermione was still looking fairly pleased with herself.

'But why an Animagi at all?'

'Oh, I just like to keep an eye on things. What?' She glared at Harry's stunned expression. 'I don't use it to cause trouble. I just like to watch what people are up to with their lives. I thought I might write up a report for the Ministry about Muggle families like your aunt and uncle; you know, ones who aren't too thrilled to have a connection to our world, and the impact that has on the lives of the wizarding people in their families. Might help other kids in the future if the Ministry has a better understanding of potential problems before they become too much of a problem and give them a chance to intervene sooner rather than later.'

The rest of the evening was spent squirreled away in Harry's bedroom, going over Defence practice exams and joking about the high jinx earlier (though Harry and Hermione didn't mention last summer to Ron).

Breakfast next morning was the usual mix of jagged nerves and lost appetites before the Great Hall filled with rows of single desks ready for the written half of the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam.

'You may begin …' (a small bell tinkled) 'now.'

Harry turned over his exam paper and quickly scanned down the list of questions, none of which presented any real problems. Except for …

Harry stared at question eight.

_a) Describe the details of the prophecy which dictates who has been chosen to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named and b) explain what the Chosen One needs to do to fulfil that destiny._

What were the examiners playing at, setting a question like that? The Wizarding Examinations Authority was an independent body … wasn't it … but that question sounded like Scrimgeour himself had written it.

Harry could feel every head turning towards him as a collective gasp echoed through the Hall but, probably due to the deafness she had displayed two years before, Professor Marchbanks didn't seem to notice.

Glancing at his watch, Harry realised he had wasted five minutes already. Bowing his head over the paper, he pushed question eight to the back of his mind (he would tackle it last), and started the rest of the exam.

Naturally, there were no prizes for guessing the main topic of conversation over a very hasty lunch.

'What was question eight everybody's talking about?' asked Ginny as they collapsed onto seats in the newly restored dining hall.

Harry filled her in as he watched Ron gobble down a large plateful of steak and kidney pie; he knew he probably should eat something but his appetite had abandoned him again and it had nothing to do with exam nerves.

'What did you put?'

'Nothing, of course.' Harry scowled. 'They've got no right to know what's going on with me and Voldemort.'

'Then why don't you sound very happy about it?' Ginny piled food on a plate and pushed it across to Harry. He ignored it.

'Because, I bet you anything, the Ministry will insist on a hundred percent for Defence to be able to get into the Auror program and, since I missed a question, there's no way I'm going to get full marks.'

'You don't need to worry, Harry.' Hermione helped herself to his plate. 'The information which that question was trying to milk out of us is classified so –'

'Huh?' Ron looked from his pie.

'The details of prophecies held by the Department of Mysteries can't be divulged to anybody other than the people the prophecies are about,' Hermione explained. 'That's how Bode ended up in St Mungo's.'

'But Harry told –'

'That's because he _chose_ to. If he doesn't want anyone else to know, then they legally can't force him to tell.'

'But the prophecy broke –'

'Only the record of it,' said Hermione in a patient tone. 'The prophecy itself still exists because it still hasn't been fulfilled yet.

'But it was just about Harry being born and being the one who –'

'The last part hasn't happened yet,' Harry said softly.

'What, you mean – oh.' Ron turned red.

'I still don't understand how all this is going to stop me not getting a hundred.' Harry took advantage of Ron's silence.

'I told you, according to the law, they can't force you to tell. That whole question shouldn't have been in the exam in the first place. So, unless they want to face a massive class action under Fat Cheat's Law, they have to take out question eight and mark the rest of the paper out of one hundred.'

'What's Fat Cheat's Law?' asked Ginny.

'It's really Fatchett's Law but Fat Cheat is more appropriate,' said Hermione smugly. 'Years ago, a Slytherin called Fatchett did terribly on his OWLs but didn't want to repeat, so his father brought the exam board before the Wizengamot who ruled that, not only did they have to give this kid Outstanding for _all_ of his subjects instead of the straight Trolls he'd scored, but the examiners also had to pay the Fatchetts one hundred galleons for every mark which had to be added to bring his grades up to Outstanding. So, unless our examiners want the entire Transfigurations class bankrupting them, they'll take that question out.'

'You mean I won't get any marks for it?' Ron was staring at Hermione with a horrified expression on his face.

A cold lump froze in the pit of Harry's stomach. 'You answered it?' he asked in a toneless voice.

'Yeah. It was about the only one I definitely knew the answer to.'

Hermione blinked back tears. 'Ron, how could you?'

'What?' Ron gazed at them incredulously. 'What's wrong with me telling that bunch of gargoyles to stick that question up their –'

'_Oh, Ron!_' Hermione threw a napkin in his face, furious that he had managed to trick them.

Harry's lump didn't get much of a chance to thaw, though, because students were starting to drift over to the waiting room ready for the Defence prac.

'… Granger, Longbottom, MacDougal.'

Neville threw Harry a nervous glance as he trooped after Hermione.

'You'll be fine,' Harry mouthed at him. Neville perked up enough to give him a shaky grin, then Fulstrum closed the door.

'Stop pacing, Harry; you're making me _really_ nervous.' Ron was getting paler by the minute. 'Anyway, what are you worried for? You'll do brilliantly.'

'Nott, Perks, Potter.'

There was something about Fulstrum's smile as he called him forward which Harry didn't like. But he didn't really have a chance to reflect on it as his jaw dropped.

Before him lay a thick forest, cold mist slowly creeping across the floor towards him. He glanced uncertainly at Professor Tofty.

'I am unarmed, defenseless and in your charge. Your task is to safely transport me to the crystal isle where you shall be given further instructions. Ready?' The old examiner smiled as if Harry was about to give him a real treat.

Harry squinted towards the forest, trying to peer through the dense foliage. Was the exam going to be a cross between Lupin's obstacle course and the third Triwizard task? If so, this was going to be pretty simple. Gripping his wand firmly, he nodded. Tofty's smile broadened.

'Then let's begin.'

Harry was partly right; the first part of the exam was _exactly_ like Lupin's third-year test; it even had Kappas and Red Caps. Then it started to get much darker. Leaving the realm of straightforward simplicity, they entered territory with chilling similarity to the graveyard at Little Hangleton.

'Move!' Harry urged Tofty as he sent his Patronus chasing after yet another Dementor. Why did Professor Tofty have to be defenseless? Harry could have used some help; this was exhausting. So far, he had fought off three trolls, two Acromantulas, a dragon, and that was the eighth Dementor.

'So the _Prophet_ got its facts correct when they reported that you speak Parseltongue,' said Professor Tofty after Harry broke a sheet of bark off a tree, Transfigured it into a mirror and told a Basilisk to look at its own reflection. 'You don't strike me as a Dark wizard.'

'I'm not,' Harry replied defensively, warmth starting to spread up his face. 'Professor Dumbledore reckoned Lord Voldemort transferred some of his powers to me the first time he tried to kill me.'

Nothing further was said between the two of them as they continued towards a very faint light just visible through the thick forest.

Another ten minutes of forcing their way through the trees (and seven Pogrebin later) Harry and Tofty stumbled onto a beach. At least, it seemed to be a beach. Extremely fine, glowing sand sloped gently down to what should have been the water's edge but, instead, a great wall of rock rose before them.

Harry felt a cold trickle run down his spine. This was just like the cave where Voldemort had hidden Slytherin's locket. He looked left and right but could see no end to the cliff face, then glanced down at his feet. The sand definitely seemed like a beach. Was there a lake on the other side of this wall, too?

He gazed up at the impenetrable rock, remembering how Dumbledore had somehow been able to detect the entrance from the ante-chamber to the main cave. But Harry didn't know how to tell where magic was concealed, nor did he know the charm to make the entrance reveal itself. The only thing he had been able to do had been wipe his blood on the rock.

Still gazing at the wall, Harry reached into his robes, then remembered he had only been allowed his wand. He snuck a sly glance at Tofty. Was he _really_ defenseless? Harry flicked his wand in the examiner's direction and something shot through the air into his outstretched hand. Before Professor Tofty could do more than gasp with surprise, Harry slashed his arm, causing a spray of scarlet across the rock face, which promptly dissolved into nothing.

'That could almost be classified as cheating, you know.' Professor Tofty sounded slightly bemused as he accepted his knife back. 'You are only supposed to use your wand.'

'I did use my wand,' Harry replied as he healed his cut and gazed at the lake before him.

Though not as vast as the one which Harry and Dumbledore had crossed to retrieve the fifth Horcrux, this lake was still quite large in size. Crystal clear, it stretched away from them to the distant bank, which also glowed faintly. Crouching down a moment, Harry picked up a small handful of sand and examined it, rubbing his fingers lightly over it before letting it trickle back to the ground. Unless he was much mistaken, that was powdered crystal. He allowed himself a secret grin. They were close; he could feel it.

Squinting across the smooth surface of the lake again, Harry wondered where the isle was. By rights, it should be in the centre of the lake, but there was nothing there, just a faint glowing light which seemed to shine upwards from beneath the surface of the water. He shook his head slightly. Surely the crystal isle wasn't at the _bottom_ of the lake?

He pondered the problem. The lake was really too large for him to swim that far; although quite fit, he had never been a very strong swimmer. He glanced at his companion, taking in the bald head and wrinkles, trying to estimate how much strain his ancient heart could stand.

'Do you think you could swim halfway across the lake?' he asked.

'No.' Tofty didn't hesitate. 'I can't swim.'

Harry stared at him. 'OK, can you really not swim or is this just part of you being defenseless?'

Tofty gazed at Harry; an internal struggle seeming to be going on behind the dark brown eyes, as if trying to decide how much he should reveal. 'I'm not trying to be difficult, Harry,' he eventually said quietly. 'I truly cannot swim. I almost drowned when I was a small child and I have never been able to summon sufficient courage to go back into the water since then. I'm sorry.'

Harry felt frustration start to stir deep within him. That was going to make this much harder, trying to carry his charge across the lake, especially if Tofty's fear got the better of him. It would be simpler if they could sail across to where the light was and then dive down to its source. Tofty would need to be in the water for the least amount of time that way. Harry just hoped his panic wouldn't stop him holding his breath long enough. But first, they needed a boat.

Despite having just exposed his greatest weakness, Professor Tofty still had an air of amusement about him as his protector set off around the lake.

Once again, Harry had absolutely no idea just how to find what he was looking for, but remembering how suddenly Dumbledore had stopped, it had almost been as if he had bumped into the invisible chain which had secured Lord Voldemort's boat. It he was very lucky, perhaps Harry would stumble upon a boat the same way.

By the time they had come full circle, Harry's frustration was no longer slight. As well as being unsuccessful at securing a vessel to safely convey them to the middle of the lake, Tofty's face was giving nothing away as to whether it would be held against him or not. Even the clear, smooth surface of the lake seemed to mock him.

Harry angrily kicked out at the shallows, tangling his foot in some weeds and sending ripples spreading outwards. He tried to pull his foot free but the plant stubbornly stayed wrapped around his shoe; only after a second tug did he manage to finally get clear of the wretched thing.

Sinking down on the bank, Harry pulled off his shoe and emptied the water out of it. He sighed tiredly as he wiped a hand across his sweaty face, wondering what to do next but finding his mind annoyingly –

He blinked and brought his hand up to his nose. It smelt like something which he had tasted once. He couldn't be absolutely certain though; it was pretty faint. Grabbing up his shoe, Harry sniffed it too. It couldn't be …

Pushing his sleeves back, Harry plunged his hands into the shallows and grabbed a fistful of slimy, greyish green rat tail-looking leaves.

'Is there a time limit on this exam?' He turned to find Professor Tofty frowning at the leaves.

'Why, how much time do you need?'

'At least another hour.'

Tofty's brows rose. 'What on earth are you going to do with an hour?'

'Wait.' Harry grinned at the puzzled expression.

'For what?'

'This to wear off.' Harry help up the plant. 'This is Gillyweed. We'll use it to get you to the middle of the lake.'

The examiner's eye's widened with fear. 'But I can't swim!'

'You won't have to,' Harry continued. 'We'll _walk_ across the bottom of the lake. And you won't have to worry about drowning because this stuff gives you gills just like a fish. You'll be able to breathe underwater. That's why we need an hour; that's how long it takes for this stuff to wear off. And we won't be able to resurface until it does or we'll be like –'

'Fish out of water?' said Tofty. He eyed the Gillyweed. 'I think I might be brave enough to try some of that.' He took some from Harry and stuffed it into his mouth.

Harry followed suit, the non-breathing nose and mouth and piercing pain on either side of his neck no less unpleasant the second time around. Grabbing Tofty's arm, he plunged forwards into the shallows, dragging his charge into the water before they suffocated.

The world within this lake was vastly different from the one Harry had encountered during the Triwizard Tournament. Although dark (the only source of light was the faint glow of the distant island which was no brighter below the surface), Harry enjoyed clear visibility in every direction. Apart from the Gillyweed growing near the shore, there were no plants anywhere across the lakebed, only the finely powdered crystal stretching before them. Fortunately, it was indeed crystal, because sand would have grabbed muddily at their feet, impeding their progress.

Harry glanced at Professor Tofty and was pleased to see the examiner seemed to be winning the battle with his fears or, at least, wasn't letting them dominate too much. He gave a thumbs-up of encouragement and received one in return after only a moment's hesitation.

They were probably about halfway to their destination when Harry happened to glance up and saw something which made him stop so suddenly, Professor Tofty bumped into the back of him.

Just visible in the dim light, several dark objects floated lazily above them like billowing cloaks. Harry couldn't tell for certain if they were Inferi or Lethifolds; either way, they weren't good. Luckily, they didn't seem to have noticed the adventurers, but Harry was willing to bet it wouldn't remain that way. Waving at his companion, he signalled that they should continue on their way, but slowly and carefully so as to lessen their chance of attracting attention.

They managed to make it the rest of the way without any further dramas, for which Harry sent up a silent prayer to whatever forces were protecting them. Even though this was only an exam, it had been very difficult to remember that as he had had to fight his way through every challenge he had ever faced since starting at Hogwarts. He wondered, briefly, how the other students would handle all of this. He was pretty sure Ron wouldn't make it past the Acromantulas, which was a shame; he had always been there for Harry when it counted most and had confronted almost as many horrors as his more-famous friend. But all of that didn't really matter at the moment. The moment Harry was living in right now was his NEWT exam and he had successfully and safely transported Professor Tofty to the crystal isle.

Rising up from the lake floor, the crystal isle was exactly like its name suggested: a large lump of glittering crystal, hundreds of facets reflecting the light glowing within its centre. It reminded Harry of a Swarovski bowl Aunt Petunia had received as a wedding present and which she used for Christmas punch.

Uncertain where the 'further instructions' were supposed to be coming from, Harry decided to spend the remaining Gillyweed time exploring the strange rock, but he had barely set foot upon the glassy stone when the ground beneath him shook violently, making both he and Professor Tofty fall. And they kept falling, rolling over and over down long, sloping banks as the island rose up to the lake's surface. Harry threw an anxious glance towards the floating creatures but they continued to drift just below the surface, seemingly as unaware of their surroundings as if they were languishing under the effects of the most potent sleeping potion.

To Harry's surprise, Tofty began to climb the rock, trying to reach dry land. Harry let him get almost to the top, then reached out and grabbed his arm, holding him back. When the professor stared at him with a look of pure panic in his eyes, Harry pointed at his water-logged watch and then the gills on the side of his neck, reminding Tofty that it wasn't safe for them to leave the water yet. A look of pure exasperation on his face, Tofty sat down beside Harry to wait out the rest of their hour.

'I'm very proud of you,' Harry told Professor Tofty as soon as the Gillyweed had worn off and they were finally standing dripping in the open air. 'I know how hard that was for you. You could easily have let your fears get the better of you, endangering both of us, but you didn't. Very well done.'

Professor Tofty blinked at Harry in surprise, colour starting to creep up his pale cheeks. 'It's not necessary to heap praise upon me, you know; it won't get you any extra marks.'

'That's not why –'

'Nevertheless,' the examiner held up a hand to stop Harry's protest, 'I do thank you. That may not have been the most enjoyable experience I have ever lived through, but I did live through it.' He allowed himself a self-congratulatory smile. 'Perhaps, when we have completed all of this, I just might enroll for swimming classes.'

Harry chuckled. 'You do that,' he said. 'When I was little, my third-grade teacher told us "the day you stop learning is the day you die", so you're not too old to learn. Just don't come to me; I'm not that great a swimmer myself so I wouldn't make a very good teacher.'

'Oh, I don't know,' Tofty commented. 'If your students' performances earlier today are any indication, you're actually quite an excellent teacher … in this subject, at least. But don't tell anybody I said that.' He glanced around furtively, as if checking for eavesdroppers, a cheeky gleam in his eyes.

Trying to ignore his own blushes, Harry shrugged. 'So what happens now?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I've brought you here … _safely_ … so what are the further instructions?'

Tofty shook his head slowly. 'I'm not the one you need to ask.'

Harry gazed at him, perplexed. If he wasn't supposed to get his further instructions from the examiner, then who _was_ he supposed to ask? There was nobody else here. Unless …

He unwillingly let his eyes drift past Professor Tofty to the clear water beyond him. Was he supposed to ask the things floating blissfully around the island? Taking a deep breath, he took a step towards the water's edge.

'Harry,' a girl's voice cried.

Harry turned back around. Professor Tofty had disappeared. In his place, two of the chained chairs from the Ministry were perched back-to-back on the island's summit. And securely bound to the chairs were Ron and Hermione.

Harry felt his jaw drop. What was going on here? He glanced around nervously as he scrambled up the rock towards his friends but there was still no sign of Tofty.

Reaching the top, Harry's fingers frantically scrambled over the chains, trying to release them but without success. 'Help me!' he implored as his fingers started to bleed.

'We _can't_, Harry.' Hermione's eyes were full of apology. 'You have to get us back to school by yourself. They confiscated our wands when they brought us here.'

'Who are "they"?'

'That lot!' Ron's voice rose in pitch and his eyes grew as large as dinner plates as he stared past Harry's shoulder at the lake.

Dread building in his stomach once more, Harry peered cautiously over his shoulder and jumped. More than a hundred pairs of rotted hands were scraping their way up the lower edges of the crystal rock, dragging after them the bodies they were attached to. Harry could see that they were definitely Inferi rather than Lethifolds, and not just any Inferi. What seemed to be every Death Eater who had ever died in Lord Voldemort's service was now advancing towards them, cloaks streaming with water and empty eye sockets staring blankly through broken masks, causing a wave of panic-ridden dejavu to wash over Harry.

He was jolted out of his stupor by Ron's shout of 'Do something!' and desperately tried to rally his frozen courage. He couldn't understand why he was struggling to feel brave now, especially after everything else which had been thrown at him today. It wasn't like he was particularly afraid of Death Eaters; they were just snobbish, bullying cowards, no better than the Dursleys. He had faced them before and survived; even gotten the better of some of them, remembering the time immediately after Snape had pretended to kill Dumbledore. And this lot were dead, so it wasn't like they were capable of intelligent thought or cunning. They were just … dead.

And with this thought, Harry's paralysis dissolved. Sweeping his arm in a wide arc, flames streamed forth from the end of his wand, creating a ring of fire around himself, Ron and Hermione. Continuing to whirl his wand in great loops above his head, Harry expanded the fire downwards and outwards, forcing the Inferi Death Eaters back away from its radiating heat and light. Retreating to the cool dark sanctuary of the lake, the Inferi slipped below the surface, black cloaks billowing around them as they returned to their former posts, floating quietly around the island.

'And _stay_ there!' called Ron.

Not trusting that they were truly no longer a threat (they were Death Eaters, after all), Harry didn't terminate the spell, but left the ring of flames burning just beyond the edge of the island while he turned his attention back to the problem of how to free his friends.

'How did you know to do that?' asked Ron as Harry began closely examining the chairs, looking for a lock or something.

'Dumbledore did it once,' Harry replied testily, his exhaustion starting to make him lose patience with them for their refusal to assist him in any way. Ron's chair didn't surrender anything useful and he was halfway through Hermione's (getting more frustrated by the second), when she moved her left foot slightly, as if trying to hide something.

'You cheat!' he accused after he wrenched her foot out of the way to reveal an extremely tiny padlock.

'I told you,' she said as he unlocked it (_'Alohamora'_) and began unwinding the endless length of chain, 'we aren't allowed to help you.'

'That doesn't mean you have to try to stop me. Or are you just doing that because you don't want me to get a better mark than you.'

'Don't talk to my girlfriend like that!' Ron jumped into the fray as the last few feet of chain clunked heavily to the ground and the two chairs vanished.

'Oh, shut up, both of you!' Harry angrily turned his back on his best friends, as much mad with himself as them. Was this part of the exam? As well as fighting against the Dark Arts, was he also supposed to fight against the darkness within himself? If so, then he was failing miserably.

For some reason, Umbridge's face floated before his eyes, that stupid cat-cream smile plastered all over it at the thought that Harry would miss out on becoming an Auror because he let his emotions get the better of him … and in his best subject, too. As mad as he was with Ron and Hermione, he had no intention of giving Umbridge her heart's desire and took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, while he gazed across to the distant shore.

How was he going to get them all back to the school? Would they be able to Apparate? Somehow, he doubted it. The point of the exam wasn't to prove he could Apparate (he had done that last July); it was to prove he could defend himself – and, apparently, others – against the Dark Arts. So he was probably supposed to get them home using some kind of defensive spell. But what?

'There's no need to – ' Hermione started to say defensively but Harry didn't want to hear it. He needed to think and for that he needed quiet.

Frustration welled up again, making his eyes sting. Or was that the heat from the flames? They flickered around him, reflecting in the boundary crystals …

Harry blinked and gazed more closely at the edge of the island. There was a fiery _phoenix_ flying from one facet to the next, around and around the island. It was like watching a flipbook. Harry glanced upwards, thinking it might have been a reflection of Fawkes circling above them, but there was no bird in sight.

He looked back down. The phoenix in the stones seemed to be molting: feathers were dropping from its tail and twinkling for several seconds in each stone before fading to nothing. Was that how he was supposed to get them home … by using a tail feather? Sure, Dumbledore had given him some for Christmas but he didn't have any here with –

He glanced down at his wand. That wasn't entirely true. He _did_ have a phoenix tail feather with him and had done for nearly seven years.

'Grab my wand.'

'What?' Ron and Hermione both stared at him, confused.

'My wand; grab it.' Harry held up the length of holly.

Glancing warily at each other, his classmates nervously reached their hands towards the wand.

Harry clamped his own hand over theirs, holding them fast.

'Hey!'

Ignoring Ron, Harry focused on the wand.

And suddenly … they were home.

Harry crouched, panting, on the floor of the Great Hall, small tremors rippling through his body as exhaustion, pain and relief took their toll. He went to squeeze Ron and Hermione's hands but discovered they had vanished. The only people in the room were the four examiners, all of whom were applauding.

'Didn't I tell you the extra time would be worth it?' Professor Tofty's beaming smile fairly split his face in two.

Griselda Marchbanks helped Harry to his feet. 'That would have to be the best exhibition I have ever seen; even beats Dumbledore.'

'We did think it a bit odd that Minerva had a student teaching, but it's easy to see why she did,' added Professor Fairweather.

Harry could feel himself blushing. 'I … I'm sorry I took so long,' he stammered, unsure just how to reply to the praise they were heaping upon him. 'Will you still have time to test the others before dinner?'

'Others?' Professor Marchbanks frowned. 'They've all been tested.'

'What?' Harry blinked at her stupidly. 'Even Ron?' With a surname starting with 'W', Ron would be one of the last to be called.

'Yes.' Tofty couldn't seem to be able to shake that grin. 'I told you you took your time. Mind you, only one other student finished – perhaps it's a family thing. Admittedly, he wasn't quite as stylish, but –'

'Do you really think you should be discussing that sort of thing in front of … minors?'

Harry jumped. He hadn't noticed Fulstrum standing over by the doors but now took full advantage of the opportunity to glare back at the scowling face. The one good thing to come out of having completed the exam (apart from being able to get some rest and never having to study up on counter-curses again unless he _wanted_ to) was the fact that he would never have to be in close proximity to that man ever again.

While basking in the luxury of a soothing, fragrant bath (Ron had commented over dinner that Harry smelt like a troll on heat), Harry again pondered the mystery of his relatives. Professor Tofty's words had left him in no doubt that one of his fellow NEWT Defence students was related to him. He had also said they had completed the entire exam. Even Hermione hadn't managed that, getting stuck at the Inferi. As scented bubbles softly popped around him, Harry let possibility rise above the steam and condense into much harder probability. He sighed as he sank deeper into the warm water. He _really_ needed to speak with Dumbledore.

Harry found his musings weren't the only thing distracting him over the weekend. Hermione spent most of the time repeatedly wishing she still had her Time-Turner and snapping at everybody from Gryffindor to Slytherin for disturbing her with their noise, even if they had only yawned. It was almost a relief to get up to the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight on Monday to do the practical half of that exam. Fortunately, it went much better than two years before, but then they weren't unwitting witnesses to a physical attack upon McGonagall this time around; something Professor Tofty seemed nervous about. He kept sneaking sly glances towards Hagrid's hut and constantly reminded the students to hurry up please. Harry and Ron threw each other bemused looks before bending their heads over their telescopes to check the readings they had taken. At one a.m., after they trudged sleepily back down the spiral staircase, Harry collapsed onto his bed, fully clothed, desperate to snatch a few hours sleep before Herbology later that morning.

'Oh no,' Hermione moaned softly at breakfast. Harry and Ron glanced up to find her nose-deep in the _Prophet_.

'Hermione,' Ron cried exasperatedly. 'You've still got four more exams to study for; why on earth are you wasting time reading _that_ rubbish?'

'Read that!' She pointed to a column on page nine. Ron's eyes popped wide as he read the indicated article.

'_Snape_ killed Borgin? But –'

'Give me that.' Harry snatched the paper from him, quickly scanning the details. It was exactly as Remus had warned. Plagued with failures and incompetence, the Ministry had been desperate to demonstrate they were still capable of doing something right and had thoroughly investigated the connection between Borgin and the eagle, unearthing Snape's link in the process.

Harry glanced across the Great Hall. Only a few Slytherins took delivery of the_ Daily Prophet_ (mainly because most of them had the mental capacity of four-year-olds and so weren't capable of reading anything that advanced), so the ripple effect was rather slow. But it did ripple. One by one, the news spread along the length of not just that table, but also the Ravenclaw one, shock paralysing the students: spoons froze halfway to mouths, pumpkin juice poured unchecked into glasses, overflowing and staining tablecloths, and Crabbe and Goyle spilt hot coffee down their fronts. All because the former Head of Slytherin was really a _Ravenclaw_.

Feeling more awake than he had an hour before, Harry joined Ron in grinning at the Slytherin's betrayal as they headed down to Greenhouse Four.

Late that afternoon, Harry tossed his dragon hide gloves into the bottom of his trunk, thankful that that was over, though he didn't think he did too badly, thanks to lessons Neville had given him in exchange for Defence. Tomorrow was a rest day (for Harry and Ron, at least), and then Charms on Thursday, and they were done.

_x_

'Use _Expollantum Bothrend _against all species of Nundu unless there is leopard blood in it, then use –'

'Will you stop it, Hermione?' Ron looked like he was ready to bite Hermione's head off, despite having just claimed he wasn't hungry enough to eat lunch. 'You'll get Outstanding, same as you've gotten for all your other exams. Relax, will you?'

'_Relax?'_ snapped Hermione. 'That's easy for you to say; this is your last exam. _I've _still got Ancient Runes tomorrow.'

'Then we'll be all finished.' Harry stepped in to stop Ron and Hermione's nerves launching themselves at each other's throats. They were in the ante-chamber beside the Great Hall (which had again changed from banquet hall to exam room), waiting their turns for the Charms practical. He glanced up as Flitwick called the next group of students, including Hermione.

'Good luck,' Harry called encouragingly, echoed by Ron (even if he did still look fed up with her), then they were left to battle their own demons in private.

Harry's mind was a whirlwind as he ran over every Charms class and tutorial with Flitwick. He was partway through the memory of his OWL exam, his hand unconsciously making slight movements, tracing the wand patterns for each spell he had used when, suddenly, McGonagall's amplified voice echoed through the school.

'Attention; your attention, please. Would all students please return to their common rooms – prefects and Head Boy and Girl to supervise. (Ron frowned.) 'Teachers and visiting examiners, please assemble in my office. Thank you.'

Harry glanced across at Flitwick. 'Er … am I a teacher or a student?'

Flitwick gazed up at the ceiling and then back at Harry. 'Teacher,' he squeaked. A moment later, the doors from the Great Hall opened and the examiners came out, followed by Hermione, Anthony Goldstein and a Hufflepuff girl Harry recognised from Herbology, Daphne something.

'Professor,' Professor Marchbanks addressed Flitwick. 'Do you know what is going on?'

'No, I am afraid I don't.' Flitwick's high voice was difficult to hear as he led them back out to the Great Hall; a growing hum of noise flooded in from the Entrance Hall as Slughorn and his Potions class arrived.

'Filius?' Slughorn zeroed in on Flitwick as Harry edged towards Ron and Hermione.

'What do you suppose is going on?' asked Ron.

'Voldemort couldn't be here, could he?' whispered Hermione, tightening her grip on her wand.

'No,' Harry murmured. 'My scar's not hurting.'

'What should we do, then?' Ron glanced over at the teachers.

'What we've been ordered to do,' stated Hermione, and she headed over to the group of Potions students. She spent a few moments talking to a girl wearing a prefect badge, then she returned to where Harry and Ron were standing.

'I've arranged for Felicity to get this lot upstairs. The other prefects should be OK with the other classes. Ron, if you can check on the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor dorms to make sure everybody is accounted for, I'll do Hufflepuff and Slytherin.' She looked around as the front doors banged open and Hagrid stomped in, a group of third-years trailing behind him, relief on their faces (probably at not having to continue dealing with whatever creature they were studying). 'You'd better get up to Professor McGonagall's office, Harry,' added Hermione, nodding towards Flitwick and the examiners waiting at the top of the marble staircase. Giving Ron a shove towards the staircase as well, she called for Hagrid's third year Slytherin's to follow her down to their dormitory.

'So, _Professor_.' Hagrid gave Harry a pat on the back which made him trip up several steps. 'Bin called to a special meetin', yeh have. Who'da thought tha'?'

'Do you know why, Hagrid?' Harry wriggled his shoulders, checking if his back had sustained any broken bones.

'Hope it's not the Ministry stuffin' things up again.' Hagrid threw a dark look towards the examiners ahead of them.

'Well, we'll know soon enough,' Harry said as they reached the gargoyle.

The atmosphere in McGonagall's office was like the inside of a freezer. All the teachers were standing around in a group just inside the entrance, apparently reluctant to step further into the room, as if doing so would somehow make the feared horror more real.

The examiners exchanged puzzled glances.

'Headmistress,' Griselda Marchbanks ventured. 'What is all this about?'

Even though the office appeared as ordered as usual – all of McGonagall's possessions were very neatly in their designated places – from her position at the window, McGonagall herself seemed to emanate an atmosphere of sheer helplessness. Normally very stiff-backed and forthright, her head was bowed and shoulders slumped in a pose reminiscent of the night Dumbledore had pretended to die. Harry was certain she suppressed a sob as she turned to face them.

An audible gasp echoed around the room as the teachers viewed McGonagall's deathly-pale face and red eyes, proof that she had indeed been crying.

'Minerva, whatever is the matter?' Madam Pomfrey took a step towards her, her hands instinctively reaching for her employer to help and to heal.

McGonagall drew a shaky breath, struggling to pull herself together as she sat herself down behind her desk.

'Minerva, please, what is it?' Slughorn's anxiety was probably the most palpable of all the teachers.

'Will you all, please, sit down.' said McGonagall shakily.

This seemed to confuse the teachers more. As there were insufficient chairs for all of them, wands were duly twirled to create more. Once everyone was seated, McGonagall cleared her throat nervously.

To give her credit, it only took her two attempts. In light of what she told them, Harry doubted he would have managed so quickly.

'A short time ago, I received an owl from London. Earlier today, supporters of … You-Know-Who …'

Harry's stomach dropped. Had Voldemort found Dumbledore?

'… penetrated the Ministry of Magic. Five minutes later, there was an …' McGonagall struggled to control her emotions. '… there was … an … explosion .. which de-de-destroyed most of the Ministry.'

Stunned silence greeted this news. If Harry was expecting anything, it certainly wasn't this. Nobody said anything, not even the examiners. It took several minutes before Flitwick asked what they were all thinking.

'How many are dead?'

Seemingly unable to speak the number out loud, McGonagall reached for a thick scroll lying near the end of her desk and pushed it towards Flitwick. Frowning, he began to unroll it.

It trailed almost to the door. Crowding around him, the examiners began searching the list of names, cries of shock escaping their lips almost immediately.

'What?' Professor Sprout was trying to see over their shoulders.

'The Minister is dead,' gasped Tofty, a hand pressed to his face.

'Braxton Fysher, Penelope Marks, John Roper,' Professor Capsworth sobbed softly, on all fours as she searched further along the scroll. 'I was at school with them.' She sat back on her heels. 'Penny and I were best friends from the minute we met on the Express. She ended up getting a job in Belgium. She _can't _be dead. She just _can't_ be.' She tried to blink back tears.

Harry felt cold. If Scrimgeour was dead, and his office was on the same floor as…

He craned his neck to see past Professor Marchbanks, scanning the names near Scrimgeour's but, with the exception of the Minister, the victims were listed alphabetically, rather than by rank or status. Turning to search the other end of the parchment, Harry bumped into Hagrid, who was blocking most of the room.

'I used to spend half me time talkin' to Tommy Dregston abou' diff'rent creatures when he was here,' Hagrid said in a toneless voice. 'He was probably the only kid wha' liked dragons as much as me, even more 'n Charlie Weasley.'

'Dregston?' Slughorn spun around. 'How could _he _be dead?'

'I used to reprimand him for sneaking out at night and going to see you, Hagrid.' McGonagall blew her nose. 'He lost a lot of points for Hufflepuff. Dumbledore finally got me to realise you could teach him far more than any of the teachers here inside the castle.'

'But what was he doing at the Ministry?' Slughorn was shaking. 'I thought he went to work in Germany.'

'His cousin worked in the Department of Mysteries; perhaps he was visiting him?' McGonagall suggested.

Harry finally got past Hagrid and dropped to the floor, his eyes skimming past names he didn't know. He got about two thirds of the way down when the alphabet finished. A small part of Harry's stomach unclenched. The name wasn't here, but then he saw more names starting at A again. Confused, he peered closer.

The scroll contained two lists – one naming those who had been killed in the attack, the other identifying all of the wounded. Ice began to creep up Harry's spine again as he examined this second list but was forced back down by relief when he didn't find Mr Weasley's name. He must have been out on a raid somewhere, thank goodness. But there _was_ a name which caught his eye.

'There was an added message both requesting everyone who has worked for the Ministry in recent times to fill in until the more formal arrangements can be made and to stay as far away from the Ministry as possible for their own safety.' McGonagall glanced at the examiners. 'I think it is fair to say that the remainder of the exams will be cancelled in light of this?' She got four nods. 'Then you will be wanting to return to London to offer Cornelius Fudge assistance. And you, Patricia?' She switched her gaze to Professor Capsworth.

'I'm not sure that Fudge will want me on his team; it was Scrimgeour who appointed me. Dolores Umbridge hasn't been harmed at all and will probably convince Fudge that she can do both our old jobs by herself.' Harry noticed, through his burning bursts of anger that Umbridge was OK and Fudge would be resuming the post of Minister, that Professor Capsworth was shaking like a leaf. Madam Pomfrey emerged from her own shock enough to go to her side, where she conjured a soft blanket and draped it around her shoulders.

Harry continued to gaze detachedly at Capsworth. He didn't belong here. The room was full of people in deep shock over the sudden, violent deaths of people they knew, some of whom they had even been close to. And while, now that he was over the original shock, Harry was certainly angry at the tragedy, he didn't share the connection which the others did.

He needed to get out of here. He had to speak to Ron and Ginny, then he _really_ needed to see Dumbledore. This couldn't be coincidence. Voldemort was going to do something definite. Why else would he make sure this attack occurred? With one stroke, he had killed a large percentage of skilled witches and wizards and thrown the Ministry into total disarray, unable to efficiently rally against him.

'Where are you going, Potter?'

Harry stopped, his hand on the doorknob. 'To tell Ron and Ginny.'

'You'll need to speak to more students than that.' McGonagall gave another shuddering breath as she stretched her hand forward and touched her wand to the top of the scroll. Random names along its length glowed for several seconds, then McGonagall pressed the wand's tip against separate sheets of parchment which she got out of the top drawer of her desk. More glowing occurred as names scrawled their way down the sheets, three lists in all.

'I shall need the Heads of House to tell the students who have family members working at the Ministry what has occurred … and the fate of their …' She struggled once more to steady her breathing. 'Pomona … Filius …'

Both Professors Sprout and Flitwick accepted their lists with shaking hands. Hagrid gave a loud sob from behind his tablecloth-sized handkerchief. McGonagall blinked back tears as she glanced at him, then met Harry's gaze full on.

'Harry … Professor Potter …' Despite the atmosphere of horror engulfing all of them, herself included, there was a steely glint in McGonagall's eyes, as if she was daring Harry to shirk his responsibility. 'Would you be so kind as to inform the Gryffindor students of what has happened?' She held out the Gryffindor scroll as she gazed at him, unblinking.

'Er ...' Harry glanced uncertainly towards Hagrid, who gave a loud howl and buried his face deeper into his handkerchief. He was clearly deeply affected by the death of Tommy Dregston.

'Please.' McGonagall's eyes were full of pleading.

Harry didn't want to do this. He wasn't Head of House. If McGonagall didn't want to entrust Hagrid with such a delicate task, then why couldn't she do it herself? She used to be Gryffindor head.

'Professor …' said Harry. 'I …'

'Good; that's settled!'

Harry blinked. The scroll was suddenly in his hand. How had that happened?

Flitwick and Sprout, after a quick glance down their own lists, went to leave.

'What about my scroll?' Slughorn sounded half indignant, half hopeful.

Every head shot up, anger momentarily driving the shock and sorrow from their eyes.

'Do ya really think there'd be a stinkin' Slytherin among the dead?' roared Hagrid, making Slughorn jump. 'Like You-Know-Who would risk _their _miserable hides. 'Course there's no scroll fer you!'

More stunned silence followed this outburst. Slughorn's pale face drained of even more colour as he tried to stammer that just because a student had been in Slytherin didn't necessarily mean …

No one was listening. Hagrid resumed bawling noisily and wetly in the corner, Madam Pomfrey went back to consoling Professor Capsworth. Flitwick and Sprout, after a brief glimpse at Dumbledore's portrait, pushed past Harry and went back down to the school.

One by one, the other teachers also left, Professors Vector and Sinistra helping Hagrid from the office with great difficulty. Soon there was no excuse for Harry to remain and McGonagall's penetrating gaze was getting more uncomfortable by the second. With an incoherently muttered, 'Excuse me,' Harry backed out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster.

He made it as far as his office when the reality of what he was facing hit him. He collapsed shakily into his chair and pressed his hands to his face. How was he supposed to tell his students that their relatives were dead?

'I'm so sorry, but your father was killed by Death Eaters this morning.' Even to his own ears it sounded harsh and abrupt.

'I regret to inform you …'

_I regret to inform you?_ It sounded like something they would say on a popular Muggle television police drama. He wasn't a policeman; why should he sound like one?

He spent several minutes continuing in this vein, but still couldn't come up with anything which he would feel comfortable saying to one of his fellow students. He just sat there, fuming, hating McGonagall for dumping this in his lap, hating Voldemort even more for creating this situation. A tiny part of him even hated Hagrid for being such a cry baby.

He knew he should get up to the common room but it was so much more comfortable just sitting here in the numb silence. It wouldn't last. Even now, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were hearing what had happened and it wouldn't be long before the news spread through the rest of the school. Did he really want Ron and Ginny to find out like that?

'What's going on, lad?'

Harry jumped at the sound of Sirius's voice. Quickly, he filled the portrait in about the attack at the Ministry. Sirius, in turn, asked for so many details that Harry knew he was going to need to quiz McGonagall even more before he returned to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius also had some useful tips for breaking bad news, whether the listener was a close friend or a complete stranger.

A short time later, armed with advice and information, Harry gave the Fat lady the password ('Broccoli') and stepped into a mausoleum.

McGonagall had warned him this would happen; the rumours would beat him upstairs. His eyes quickly sought out his friends sitting in a huddle near the fireplace, a letter and an exhausted owl lying on the table between them. As soon as Ginny spotted Harry, she leapt to her feet, snatching up the letter and sending poor Errol flying.

'Harry,' she cried. 'Mum says the Ministry's been destroyed and Percy's been hurt.'

'It's not true, is it?' Rebecca Canterville, a fourth year who always sat quietly at the back of the classroom, looked across at Harry with red-rimmed eyes. 'Please say it's not true,' she pleaded, more tears threatening to fall.

Harry gazed around at the sea of faces now all staring at him. So much for Sirius's advice. Taking a deep breath, he began.

It was a lot worse than he expected. As well as not being able to break the news gently to those students who were immediately affected (thanks to Mrs Weasley's letter, they were already aware of the fact that something terrible had happened), there was also a tidal wave of questions from students who didn't have any connection to the Ministry or its employees at all, some of them reflecting the morbidly malicious curiosity Harry normally associated with Slytherins. He had barely finished answering their questions when McGonagall's voice once more echoed through the school.

'Would all students and staff please gather in the Great Hall. Thank you.'

Wondering what was going to happen now, Harry helped Ron and Hermione herd the Gryffindors downstairs.

'As you are all, by now, aware,' McGonagall began, 'there was an attack at the Ministry of Magic earlier today. Approximately seventy percent of the Ministry's staff, including the Minister himself, are either dead –' (a soft wail echoed through the students) '– or injured. The remaining staff are currently re-forming at temporary quarters in Hogsmeade. Those students wishing to return home may do so, under strict supervision. Ministry officials shall meet here in the Great Hall at seven o'clock this evening and escort you to Hogsmeade where you will be transferred to St Mungo's Hospital to meet up with your families there.

'Owing to the tragic circumstances, the remaining O.W.L and N.E.W.T. examinations will be postponed for four weeks. Any students wishing to complete their exams then shall need to let their Head of House know before the Leaving Feast tomorrow night and shall be notified over the next few weeks as to arrangements.'

She paused and seemed to straighten further. 'I know nothing either myself or the other teachers can say can make what has happened today less real or painful. Only know that, throughout your heartache, we also share your sorrow. Many of the people working at the Ministry studied here at Hogwarts and were once our students or classmates. Even though we have not lost loved family as so many of you have, we have lost many beloved friends.' She paused again and blinked back threatening tears.

'The students wishing to leave today shall need to pack if they are to be ready by seven, and I would ask the other students to be on their best behaviour and not use this time for unseemly conduct.' Her eyes drifted to the Slytherin table where several students were looking extremely pleased at the turn of events. 'As this Hall shall be needed by the Ministry, dinner shall be served in your dormitories. Now, if you would kindly accompany your Heads of House back to your common rooms, they shall be able to give you further instructions.'

Harry glanced over at Hagrid, wondering if he would be up to doing his job yet.

'If you like, Harry,' Hermione's quiet voice said from behind him, 'I can do it; I'm Head Girl, after all.'

Harry felt guilty at the wave of relief which washed over him, but he really didn't think he could handle doing Hagrid's job for him again. He waited with Ron and Ginny while Hermione had a quick word with McGonagall, then they joined the other Gryffindors as they headed up the marble staircase.

'But what I can't understand,' mused Ginny later that evening, 'is how the Death Eaters managed to blow the Ministry up. It's protected from those sorts of spells to stop something like this from happening.'

Both she and Ron had declined the offer to be escorted back to the Burrow and were now lounging in Harry's room, a move which had scandalised Hermione. She seemed to think they should at least _pretend_ to be concerned about Percy's welfare, even if he hadn't suffered anything more than a bruised cheek and broken jaw (he had been in the bathroom at the time of the attack). Ron had found the news of Percy being knocked out by a flying toilet quite amusing and Harry had had his hands full stopping an argument breaking out between his two friends.

'Is it protected against Muggle explosives?'

'What?' Ron started. 'Muggle explosives? Why? There's no way any of that lot would touch something Muggles use. They're all like Malfoy and his dad; they might get contaminated.'

'Well, that's what happened,' said Harry. 'It's all over the Muggle news; Sirius said that Remus booked himself into a Muggle hotel to get access to a television. Both Scotland Yard and the bomb squad are involved. They're claiming it was a group of terrorists who did heaps of bombings a few years back. I don't envy your dad's lot. They're going to have their work cut out for them, modifying everybody's memories so they don't remember all the wizard stuff, just the damage.'

'But how did they manage to get the explosives into the Ministry in broad daylight? Surely their security's not _that_ lax.'

Ron threw Ginny a contemptuous look. 'This is the _Ministry_ we're talking about, Ginny. Anybody can just floo in or take the lift. We did.'

'But it was still broad daylight,' Ginny pressed. 'Someone could have easily recognised them.'

'Not if they were disguised.' Hermione exchanged a meaningful glance with Harry and Ron. 'They were in and out in less than an hour.'

'Or it could have been one of the Ministry's people. Voldemort's bound to have at least one spy working there. It wouldn't be the first time a Death Eater has had a job at the Ministry and nobody realised.' Harry thought of Yaxley.

'But _who_?' asked Ron frustratedly.

'It doesn't matter, Ron,' said Hermione.

'_Doesn't matter?_'

'No,' she explained. 'That's not our problem. What we need to concentrate on is following through with the original plan. I assume that's still going ahead?' She glanced at Harry.

'Hmm. Dumbledore reckons Voldemort has done this to keep everybody looking the other way so he can sneak in here more easily. As far as we've been able to work out, he didn't have any Death Eaters with him when he checked each of the other hiding places, so he won't want them around when he comes here. This way, they'll still be celebrating this attack too much to notice what their boss is getting up to behind their backs.'

'So what do we do now?' sighed Ginny.

'Pack?' suggested Harry. 'We don't have any more exams now – tomorrow's a free day – then the feast is tomorrow night. Lupin's coming so he can help me put the plan into action, then we get everybody heading home and … what will happen will happen.' He avoided everybody's eyes as he spoke. He still felt uncomfortable dragging his friends into this. It was one thing for him to suffer the consequences of the prophecy; he didn't have a choice – well, actually, he _did _have a choice, but not one he was prepared to change – but he didn't think he could bare it if anything terrible happened to his friends because of him.

'Well, I'm off to bed then.' Ginny stood and stretched. 'Goodnight.'

''Night.' Harry only half noticed her going; his mind was full of the showdown he had yet to face.

'Coming Ron?' Hermione also stood up.

'What?' Ron dragged his eyes from Harry.

'Coming?' Hermione jerked her head slightly towards Harry. Ron frowned at her.

'It's OK, Ron,' sighed Harry. 'You can go. I won't mind.'

Ron's face fell slightly. 'Oh … OK.' Dejected, he followed Hermione and Ginny. Finally alone, Harry took his time going over his plan in his head. He wanted to make sure every detail was perfect. Then, fetching his Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak, he opened his window.


	22. Chapter 22: Where Angels Fear to Tread

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO –**

**Where Angels Fear to Tread**

The next day, Harry allowed himself to sleep in late (he hadn't returned to school until almost dawn) and then, after packing, he had gone downstairs to find the school half empty. Despite McGonagall's warning, several Slytherins – very much in the majority since the departure of large numbers of the other houses – had done their best to cause trouble by staging a re-enactment of the Ministry disaster on the school lawns mid-morning. As a result, several members of that house were now in the hospital wing with cabbages stuffed over their heads, emptying the corridors and grounds even further.

Leaving Ron, Hermione and Ginny playing chess in the common room, Harry wandered listlessly around the school, unable to settle to anything, his head full of Voldemort. By late afternoon, he found himself down by the lake, not far from the spot where he used to sit with Ron and Hermione. Not wanting to return to the castle (and all those morbid faces), it seemed as good a place as any to spend the remaining time until Lupin arrived. He headed down to the shore.

'Oh!' He stopped, surprised, and stared at the person sitting in _his_ spot. 'I didn't know anybody was here.' He turned to go.

'It's OK,' said Luna. 'You can sit here. I don't mind; I could use the company.' She took a final bite of the apple she was eating and tossed the core into the lake, then gazed out across the water, like a lonely eastern god contemplating the world and the way it turned. But where gods attracted flocks of followers, Luna's philosophies of life tended to drive people away. Harry sighed. Perhaps those same crazy views would help him make sense of the jumble inside his head.

'Of course, if you don't want to, I'll understand.' Luna was now looking at Harry, squinting against the glare of the sun slowly lowering behind him. Feeling his face growing warm, Harry sat down.

'So,' said Luna.

'So.' Harry gazed back at her, unsure how to proceed. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

'Do you think you'll manage to destroy Voldemort?'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'You … you just said …'

'His name?' Luna finished his question for him. 'Professor Dumbledore always said fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. And it is only a name. I wanted to say it, just once, before I die.'

'Die?' A small trickle ran down Harry's spine.

'He's coming here.'

Harry's stomach felt heavy. 'Who's coming?'

'Voldemort, of course.' Luna gazed at him, unblinking.

'How –?'

'Don't treat me like everyone else does, Harry, like I'm stupid or something. I'm in Ravenclaw, so that means I'm pretty smart. I got really good grades last year. Not that you need to be overly brainy to figure out that Voldemort is coming. It's simple logic, really.

'He's terrorising the entire country, he managed to break almost a dozen Death Eaters out of Azkaban and he's just destroyed the Ministry of Magic. The only place he hasn't attacked yet is Hogwarts. I thought he was going to do it last year after Professor Dumbledore died, but he didn't. And then I realised _you_ weren't here. Now that Dumbledore's dead, the only thing here which would really be worth his while breaking through all the security to get at is you. So yes, he's going to try to kill you and he's going to do it here. At Hogwarts.'

Harry stared at Luna, stunned. 'You worked all that out … on your own?'

She gave a small self-satisfied smile. 'Mmm. And both Firenze and Professor Trelawney have said that a great battle shall be joined here.'

Harry's opinion of Luna deflated immediately. 'Well, if they both said so, then it must be true.'

'You know, you're not nearly as likeable when you're having a go at someone.' Luna's tone didn't cool at all but Harry still felt a pang of guilt. 'Besides, Firenze isn't too bad; centaurs are quite intelligent, you know.'

'And Professor Trelawney?' Harry arched a brow, challenging her to defend the person who had thrown his life into turmoil.

'She just lacked faith. She was actually quite good at her subject but she wouldn't let herself believe it. She spent most of her last two months constantly reshuffling her cards because they kept coming up with the same thing.'

'And what was that?' Harry knew this would be good.

'A castle engulfed by fire, and a dark man entrapped in the Dungeon of Death.'

Harry _definitely _felt ice running down his spine this time.

'She was adamant the reading was wrong,' Luna continued, not noticing Harry's paling face, 'and we weren't to take any notice. The last class we had with her, I heard her tell Colin that she was going into Hogsmeade that weekend to buy a new deck of cards because hers had been corrupted.'

Harry didn't know what to say. He kept thinking about the time _he_ had been an unwitting witness to one of Sybil Trelawney's tarot readings. She had been adamant that the cards were lying then, too, and yet, with the perfect vision of hindsight, he realised she had foretold the scene on top of the Astronomy Tower – the Lightning-Struck Tower; a dark young man who disliked the questioner – she had been talking about the Dark Mark and Malfoy. And now it sounded like she had predicted the attack on the Ministry, as well as Harry luring Voldemort into the Hallows. Did it mean he would succeed?

He swallowed. 'Did she say anything else?' Harry tried to sound casual.

'Yes. Two weeks before she disappeared, she said something strange … at least, everybody else reckoned it was strange. It seemed to make perfect sense to me but, of course, everyone says I'm weird anyway, so odd stuff would seem OK. I'd just gotten down to Potions when I realised I'd left my _Advanced Potion-Making_ up in the Divination Tower so I raced back up to get it. Professor Trelawney was sitting over in front of the fireplace and didn't look up when I came in. I thought she must have fallen asleep so I tiptoed over to where I'd been sitting so she wouldn't know I was there and try to take points off Ravenclaw. I thought I must have made a noise because she suddenly spoke.'

Harry wasn't sure if Luna was winding him up or not. 'What did she sound like?'

'Really deep, not at all like her normal voice. Why?'

Harry didn't reply.

Luna screwed her eyes up tightly, concentrating on the memory. '"Dark approaches, approaches to engulf the light. Many shall perish in the quest to end its reign. One who once was dead shall die once more, another who is dark yet light shall also fall. Four whose youth shall strengthen them shall find their end to good purpose and one who nurtured nature shall forever feed those she tended with care and devotion."' Luna shrugged at him. 'I told you everybody thinks it's weird.'

'And what do you think it means?' asked Harry tonelessly. He felt really cold now.

'I haven't the faintest idea about the first two. I thought the one who nurtured nature might be Professor Sprout, and the four young ones might be Ron, Ginny, Neville and me.'

'Why you four?' Harry was surprised by her choice.

'Well, we were in the DA, we all went with you to the Ministry of Magic and we fought against those Death Eaters last year.

'So did Hermione, so did I. How come you don't think we'll die?' Harry wasn't sure why he was sitting here discussing this.

'You and Hermione won't die!' Luna said matter-of-factly. 'You're too powerful.'

'Hermione, maybe, but not me.'

'Then why has McGonagall got you teaching?' asked Luna.

'Er …'

'You're a great wizard, Harry.' Luna's large eyes seemed to look through him, into his very soul. 'A great wizard.' She gazed out across the lake again. 'And you'll live and I'll die.'

'I wish you'd stop talking about dying like it's so casual.'

'Why not? I'm not afraid. I'll get to see Mum again. Sure, I'll miss my father,' she shrugged, 'but it won't be forever. He'll die too … eventually … one day. Everyone does, you know.'

Harry stared at her in amazement, not at all sure why he was surprised by her attitude. He shook his head slightly.

'And you don't have any regrets about dying so young, other than missing your dad?'

Luna leaned her head on its side. 'Mmm … yeah … I've never kissed a boy before. Not that that was ever likely to happen, not with my reputation. _Loony_ Luna.' She gazed up at the castle. 'The students can be so cruel, don't you think?' She turned back.

Harry didn't know what made him do it. Perhaps it was because her face was so close to his, perhaps it was the way her hair, which was normally a dirty blonde, spun out of his shadow and caught the sun, making it gleam like polished gold. All he knew was that his lips were suddenly pressed against hers, tasting the apple she had been eating. She gave a very small gasp of surprise, then let herself melt beneath his touch, enjoying the lesson he was teaching her.

'I'm sorry,' mumbled Harry when they broke apart. 'I didn't mean to frighten you.'

'What makes you think you frightened me?' Luna sounded slightly breathless.

'You're trembling.'

'Probably because the sun's setting,' she said, rubbing her arms. 'It's getting cold. We should think about getting inside; the feast will be starting soon.' She started to get up but Harry beat her, offering his arm to her. Luna gazed at him a moment, as if gauging the sentiment behind the gesture, then grasped his arm, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

'Did you mean to do that? Kiss me, I mean,' asked Luna as they wondered back up the slope.

'Not really,' said Harry, then covered his face with his hands, going bright red. 'I'm sorry,' he laughed. 'That wasn't very romantic, was it?'

'It's OK,' said Luna. 'You don't have to be romantic. I don't mind. It was just nice to know what it's like to be kissed by someone who's not a relative. Thank you.'

Harry blinked in surprise. 'You're welcome. I think.' He gazed at her in confused astonishment. 'You really don't mind?'

'No,' Luna looked happier than he had ever seen her. 'It was like that date you took me on to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party. We weren't going together; we just went together.'

'So you're saying we didn't just kiss?'

'Exactly. We just kissed. As friends who just like each other. You do like me, don't you?' She sounded ever so slightly unsure.

Harry couldn't help grinning. 'Yes, Luna, I like you. A lot. You're different to any other friend I've got. No matter how bad I'm feeling, you always know the right thing to say to cheer me right up.' They had reached the steps leading up to the front doors. 'You've been a very good friend. I'm going to miss you.'

Luna grinned. 'Well, at least you finally believe I'm going to die.' And she headed up the marble staircase, leaving Harry standing lost at its base.

Gaping after her, Harry shook his head slowly. That wasn't why he had said he would miss her. Why couldn't she get it into her head that she would _not_ be helping him fight Voldemort? And she certainly wouldn't be dying.

Still shaking his head, he slowly made his way upstairs to get ready for the Leaving Feast.

_x_

'Professor Lupin, what are you doing here?'

Harry was halfway down the marble staircase when McGonagall came out of the Great Hall and saw Lupin and Hagrid crossing the threshold, the setting sun glowing at their backs.

'It's OK, Professor,' Harry hastened to the rescue. 'He's with me.'

McGonagall frowned up at him. 'With you, Potter?'

'Yes,' Lupin drew her attention back to him. 'Tonight is Harry's last night at Hogwarts so we thought we'd make an occasion of it … a Graduation dinner, that sort of thing.' He smiled up at Harry.

'After all,' added Harry, 'if Voldemort had had his way, I wouldn't have seen my second birthday, let alone Hogwarts, so for me to have gotten through the whole seven years here, I'd say that's worth celebrating, wouldn't you?' He gazed pointedly at McGonagall's baffled face.

'Er, yes … yes, you're right, of course. You've had precious few good things happen in your life; who am I to stand in the way of a little happiness?' Harry was sure he saw a tear in the corner of her eye. 'Though it would have been better if you had informed me beforehand – security and all.' She struggled to regain her strict headmistress persona.

Harry exchanged a small grin with Lupin behind McGonagall's back as she turned back into the Great Hall before allowing himself to be shepherded into dinner.

'Where yeh goin', Harry?' asked Hagrid as Harry turned towards the Gryffindor table.

'To sit with Ron and Hermione.' Harry pointed towards them.

'Bu' aren't yeh goin' ter si' with Professor Lupin?'

'Remus is going to be sitting with us.' Harry quickly told Hagrid, stopping him from turning and seeing Lupin twist his wand ever so slightly behind Hagrid's back. 'He was a student here himself … a long time ago … so why shouldn't he sit at the student tables?'

Hagrid gaped from Harry to Ron and Hermione watching them from the far side of the room, up to the teachers' table and back to Harry and Lupin, a small light slowly growing behind his eyes. 'Yeah … yeah, yer right. He used to be student here** … **an' a Gryffindor … same as me. Yeh wouldn' mind, would yeh Harry if _I_ sat with yeh too, would yeh?'

'No, of course not, Hagrid. The more the merrier.' Harry resisted the urge to glance at Lupin.

'I'll jus' go and get me chair …them seats haven't supported me in years … an' I'll be righ' back!' Hagrid clapped Harry on the back, almost knocking him to the floor.

Lupin steadied Harry as they watched Hagrid make his way up to the teachers' table. He breathed a sigh of relief. 'I wasn't certain if that Hint Tint charm would work or not,' he said quietly. 'Dumbledore only taught it to me this morning.'

'Well, you did extremely well.' Harry was feeling extremely relieved as well that the first step had gone to plan. 'I'd give you an Outstanding for your efforts.'

Just as Dumbledore had predicted, Hagrid's presence saw the other Gryffindor students giving the group a wide berth, ensuring the only people who would be privy to any of their conversations were Harry, Ron, Hermione, Lupin and Hagrid. Harry decided to wait until halfway through dessert before steering the conversation towards Horcruxes. Hermione had asked Hagrid over a very thick, juicy steak if he thought Crookshanks might be part Kneazle and Hagrid's study and analysis had lasted until the puddings appeared in front of them. Now patting Crookshanks with one hand and emptying a large tankard with the other, Hagrid's attention was free to wander.

'I would advise against checking tonight, Harry.' Lupin spoke softly but Harry was sure Hagrid was catching every word. 'There are too many people around who could be hurt if something goes wrong.'

'What could go wrong?' Harry raised his voice to a level higher than Lupin's, sounding like a typical teenager focused on what he believed important and forgetting to look at the bigger picture. 'I killed the Basilisk –' (Hagrid's body went very still) '–years ago. There's nothing left in the Chamber of Secrets to hurt anybody.'

'Except whatever curses Voldemort –' (Hagrid jumped – he was obviously still listening) '– might have set around the Horcrux. Assuming, of course, that there even is a Horcrux hidden down there.'

'There has to be. Before he died, Dumbledore showed me a memory where Voldemort came to see him just after he became Headmaster and asked him for the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He knew Dumbledore didn't like him like the other teachers did so he _had_ to have known that Dumbledore wouldn't give him that job. He'd have been much better off fronting up a few years earlier and asking Armando Dippet. So why did he turn up when he did? It couldn't have really been to apply for a job. No,' Harry took a deep breath, 'it had to have just been an excuse to be here on the school grounds. I'm telling you, he was hiding a Horcrux. And it has to be in the Chamber of Secrets because that was the only place here which he could get to that nobody else could, not even Dumbledore.'

'Fine,' Lupin raised a hand to stem Harry's verbal flow. 'We'll check it out. But, like I said, wait until tomorrow night when there's no one around. Now, might I suggest we talk about something else?'

'Why?' Harry forced a puzzled look. 'Nobody's around to hear.'

'McGonagall's coming.' Lupin managed to mutter quickly as his whole expression changed to one of cheerful greeting.

'Professor Lupin,' McGonagall's eyes roamed over the group, widening slightly at the sight of Hagrid striking up a conversation with Ron about his brother Charlie. 'I've been wondering why you are sitting here with the students and not up at the staff table?'

'I came to spend time with Harry –'

'Potter can join us; he has been working as a teacher, you know.'

'Yes, I know.' Lupin gave Harry a bemused smile at McGonagall's eagerness to get him to join her. He glanced at the others; Hagrid was very deep into a discussion with Ron about Romanian Ridgebacks and Hermione was busily feeding Crookshanks custard. 'I don't suppose it will hurt to join you for a short while. Coming, Harry?'

Not really wanting to desert his friends but also wondering why Lupin was playing along with McGonagall, Harry joined both of them at the teachers' table. Over the remainder of a thick slice of apple pie, Harry allowed himself to become caught up in a discussion about yesterday's attack upon the Ministry, all the while keeping half an eye on Hagrid back down at the Gryffindor table and hoping McGonagall wouldn't notice how tense he was becoming as the feast drew to a close.

'Do you think he took the bait?' Harry glanced over towards Hagrid.

'He'd have to have been trying very hard not to,' Lupin replied.

'But what if he doesn't go to Hogsmeade, or if he goes to the Three Broomsticks?' Harry's anxiety began to creep into his voice.

'He'll go to Hogsmeade, all right. This is the first night in a long time that anyone has been allowed to leave the school unaccompanied, and Hagrid's supply of alcohol will be running dry. And he will be keen to get very drunk. After all, what date is it?'

Harry thought a moment. _Of course._ 'Dumbledore's anniversary,' he said, nodding slowly. How could he have forgotten? Of all nights to have a celebratory feast.

'OK, so he'll want to get drunk. But what's to stop him going to the Broomsticks?'

'The fact that it's closed tonight.' Lupin grinned at Harry's puzzled expression. 'Snape gave me a potion earlier which made Rosmerta develop a very high fever and sudden extreme stomach problems. Don't worry,' he chuckled softly. 'She'll be all right. Look on it as revenge for her weakness in the midst of students wielding illegal curses. Ron and Miss Bell were very lucky to survive young Mr Malfoy's efforts.' His expression hardened slightly as he glanced across the room towards Ron and Hermione.

'So, when do we bring them in?' Harry was keen to get this over with.

'Go upstairs and get your Cloak and Map, and meet me near the tomb in half an hour. I'm just going to go for a little wander; it's not the full moon, and given what night it is, there would be nothing suspicious in my ending up at Dumbledore's tomb.' And with a wink, he joined the remaining students leaving the Great Hall.

Harry watched as Filch shuffled after him, malicious eagerness on his face; but he pulled up short as Hagrid pushed past, obviously in a hurry to leave. Grinning inwardly, Harry headed up to the dormitory.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was slowly making his way towards the lake, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak. He had had several awkward minutes in the dormitory when Ron had tried to argue that he wanted to come too, but Harry had managed to convince him that this would be easier to pull off with as few people as possible.

Passing Hagrid's hut, he noticed that it was very dark, so either Hagrid was extremely tired, or Lupin was right about his plans for the night.

As he neared the lake, he could just make out Lupin's silhouette standing alone, sentinel-style, beside the marble tomb. Harry quickened his pace.

'I'm here,' he whispered as he stepped up to the tomb.

'Any problems?' Lupin whispered back as he glanced around the grounds.

'None.' Harry removed the Marauders' Map from his pocket and gently placed it flat upon the slab. In the dim light, it blended almost invisibly against the white marble.

Removing his wand from his robes, Lupin touched it to the parchment and murmured softly, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'

Spidery lines began chasing each other across the blank page until, with a feeling like he had come home, Harry was gazing upon the detailed plans of Hogwarts. Quickly searching its contents, he noted that the only being in Hagrid's hut was Fang, lying in front of the fireplace.

'Yes,' Lupin confirmed Harry's suspicions. 'I saw Hagrid going down towards the gates just before. He didn't seem very happy about Filch trying to check everyone, especially teachers. He sounded slightly drunk already, so I would say he is happily taking his fill at the Hog's Head even as we speak.'

'Let's just hope he gets drunk enough to let slip about the Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets.' Harry could still see too many things going wrong with this plan.

'When have you ever known Hagrid to keep a secret?' asked Lupin.

Harry sighed. 'True. I just feel guilty using him like this.'

'Don't worry about it,' Lupin assured him. 'Voldemort had absolutely no qualms about using Hagrid to suit his own ends years ago when he was trying to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone. We're just using that lack of conscience against him.' He glanced closely at the map before pocketing it. 'Come on, let's get this over with.' Patting the tomb reverently, he began to lead Harry on a rambling route about the grounds until they were almost to the Whomping Willow.

Lupin once again checked the Map. 'Clear,' he murmured, smiling grimly.

Harry pulled the Cloak back to reveal his head. 'Are you sure this is going to work?' he asked nervously. 'This thing wasn't really made to cover two grown men, let alone three.'

'It will be awkward, true, but we'll manage it,' replied Lupin, as he bent down to pick up a long stick. Ducking slightly to avoid the Willow's waving branches, he prodded the knot which brought the tree to a standstill. He quickly closed the remaining distance to the trunk, waving to Harry to join him.

As Harry stepped up to the tree, he could see a mass of snow-white hair emerge from the hole at the base of the trunk. Leaning forwards, he reached under one of Dumbledore's arms as Lupin grasped the other and together – half-lifting, half-guiding – they carefully raised him out of the tunnel leading from the Shrieking Shack.

Even before they had managed to get Dumbledore out completely, Harry could tell something wasn't quite right. Once his mentor stood before them, he felt his jaw drop. Dumbledore was half his normal size, closer to the height of a first-year than his usual tall stature.

'What happened?' Harry felt cold all over. Had the malady which had afflicted Dumbledore for the past year drastically worsened?

'Don't panic, Potter,' a dry voice rose from beside his feet. Looking down, Harry saw Snape reaching up to grip Lupin's offered hand, then allowed himself to be hoisted upwards until he was standing beside the greatly diminished former headmaster.

'It's all right, Harry,' Dumbledore's voice was barely audible, it was so weak. 'Severus has kindly –'

'Will you stop using energy unnecessarily?' Snape sounded like a frustrated mother scolding a recalcitrant child. He huffed haughtily. 'What the headmaster was about to explain, Potter, is that I have given him a Shrinking Potion. He felt that it would be much easier hiding the three of us under your Cloak if we were considerably smaller.'

Harry raised his brows. 'Us?' he questioned, glancing from Snape to Dumbledore.

'Lupin and I will assist the headmaster into the castle. You, Potter, will wait here.' Harry drew breath to protest, but Snape cut him off. 'You will wait here and guard –' (he withdrew a small phial of blue liquid from his robes) '– this. It is the antidote to return us to our normal size. Professor Lupin will drink a sip upon his return here, then you will join us in the castle, invisible, whilst Lupin completes his sojourn of the grounds. You will guard this antidote better than you would your own life. Do you understand these instructions, Potter?'

Snape sounded like he had never left the classroom. Harry glared at him. Why did he always treat him like an uneducated child, incapable of intelligent thought or comprehension?

'Do you –?'

'_Yes,'_ Harry bit out, seething. The only good reason he could see for agreeing to Snape's demands was he would get to see Snape brought down to size, even if only briefly. Reaching his hand out, he accepted the proffered potion and hid it securely in his robes.

Once he was satisfied his instructions would be followed, Snape removed another phial and took a quick sip. He then passed it to Lupin, who drank the remaining liquid.

For a moment, nothing happened, then, shuddering violently, both men rapidly shrank to half their size. The thing which impressed Harry most was the fact that their robes had also diminished proportionately. Polyjuice Potion certainly didn't do that. Wondering where the Potions master got his recipes, he ignored Snape's waiting hand and surrendered his Cloak to Lupin, allowing himself a grin as he looked _down_ on Snape's angry countenance. He would probably pay for this later, but for the moment...

With an effort, he brought his attention back to the task at hand, stepping back to allow Snape and Lupin room as they passed a hammock-like sling behind Dumbledore and looped it around their shoulders. Holding each of them for support, Dumbledore slowly relaxed back into the sling, which rose slightly, so that his feet hovered a few inches from the ground. Lupin then spread the Cloak over all three of them and they disappeared.

Harry took a few steps to get completely out of range of the Willow's branches, sat down on the lawn, and waited.

About forty minutes later, he heard something sliding through the grass on the other side of the Whomping Willow, and wondered if it was the Cloak being dragged across the ground. A moment later his suspicions were confirmed when Lupin appeared out of nowhere.

'Is Dumbledore all right?' demanded Harry, jumping up.

'He's fine.' Lupin shrugged slightly. 'Or as fine as he can be given his condition. He's currently resting in Snape's old room.' He frowned up at Harry's anxious face. 'Why?'

'You just took so long,' said Harry weakly. 'I thought something must have gone wrong.'

'Mrs Norris was hanging around, so we had to tread very carefully so as not to alert Filch.' He held up the Cloak. 'Shall we swap?'

'What? Oh … yeah.' Harry withdrew the antidote and traded it for the Cloak.

Lupin took a swig, then passed the phial back to Harry, who returned it to his robes. Harry watched, fascinated, as Lupin began spinning very quickly, growing as he did so, until he once more stood before Harry, his normal, full-size self – though a distinct shade of green.

He clutched his stomach and grabbed Harry's shoulder to steady himself.

'Are you OK?' asked Harry anxiously. 'You look like you're going to be sick.' He tried to both support his friend and stay out of the way of any unpleasantness should the situation take a turn for the worse.

'I'll be fine in a moment.' Lupin assured him. 'I just wish there was an easier way.'

Harry suddenly thought of something. 'Is this reaction likely to make Dumbledore ten times worse?' he asked, paling slightly.

'Probably.' Normal colour was slowly returning to Lupin's face. 'But he knew that when he proposed this plan. Snape argued very strongly against it, stressing the risks, but Dumbledore would not be swayed. So we can only cross our fingers, toes and eyes, and hope all this doesn't kill him for real,' he sighed.

Harry tensed. 'You don't think he has very long left anyway, do you?'

Lupin slowly shook his head. 'Much as I hate to admit it – no; I don't think he is long for this world.'

He took a shuddering breath. 'You'd best get that antidote to Dumbledore and Snape. Getting in shouldn't be a problem. McGonagall came out just after me, no doubt planning to spend some time at the tomb. I'll wander over that way again and delay her return. Filch won't lock the door until she is back inside. But don't dawdle,' he added.

Never before had Harry been so reluctant to enter the dungeons. Much as he was eager to return Dumbledore to his true size, he was terrified he would kill the former headmaster in the process. With a rapidly beating heart, he knocked on Snape's door.

The dark eyes which looked up at him when the door opened were filled with distaste. As Snape stepped back to allow Harry admittance to the office, he ordered, 'Stop enjoying this, Potter.'

'I'm not.' Harry tried to match the dry tone. 'Lupin just explained to me how great a risk Dumbledore is taking. I'm just as reluctant to do this as you are.'

Snape's expression froze. 'Do not begin to think that you understand me, Potter.' His voice was like ice, but Harry couldn't help also noticing the infinitesimal shake of his hand as he opened the door leading from the back of his office to what Harry presumed were his private quarters. Dumbledore was right: Snape was easy to read once you knew how.

The candlelight flickering in Snape's bedroom made Dumbledore's face look even paler than it had before. Harry quickly removed the antidote and started to cross to the bed, but a tug on his robes stopped him. Looking down, he saw Snape holding out a hand.

'If you don't mind, Potter, _I_ am the Potions master, so _I_ shall administer the potion.' He waited for Harry to surrender the phial, then crossed to Dumbledore's bed. Gently, he prodded him.

'Headmaster,' (Harry's jaw dropped; he had never heard Snape speak with a tender tone in his voice.)

Dumbledore's eyes slowly opened. He smiled tiredly.

'No, don't speak,' Snape silenced him before he could draw breath. Carefully, he lifted Dumbledore into a sitting position. 'Potter!' (The sharp tone was back.) 'Get under his other side.'

Harry hurried forwards; realising he was too tall, he knelt beside the bed to better position his shoulder under Dumbledore's arm.

Snape unstoppered the phial.

'Er ... sir,' ventured Harry. 'Won't he spin?'

'Not if we hold him firmly enough.' Snape placed the antidote to Dumbledore's lips. 'Just a sip, Headmaster,' he instructed, once again presenting a caring attitude.

Dumbledore shook slightly as he drank and some of the precious liquid dribbled into his beard. Harry wondered for a very brief moment what would happen if there was insufficient antidote remaining to restore Snape, then he was fighting for control as Dumbledore shook so violently, he almost knocked Harry to the floor.

On Dumbledore's other side, Harry saw Snape climb onto the bed, the better to match Dumbledore's height as he grew, and Harry stood up to also keep pace. Once he had stopped growing, they both silently lowered him onto the bed.

Harry looked anxiously at Dumbledore's face. He really didn't look well. He was about to lay him back down, but Snape held him back.

'No, keep him upright,' he ordered, taking out his wand. Puzzled, Harry watched as Snape touched his wand to Dumbledore's stomach. Dumbledore's face turned a deeper shade of green and he closed his eyes as if he were in great pain. Harry panicked – Snape was making Dumbledore worse; but before he could stop him, Dumbledore gave a slight sigh, opened his mouth, and emitted the biggest, deepest burp Harry had ever heard. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and smiled apologetically at them.

'So that's how it's done.'

Harry jumped, and turned to see Lupin entering the room.

Remus hurried forwards to help Snape ease Dumbledore back onto the pillows, then turned to look down at Snape as he raised the phial to the candlelight, examining its contents. Lupin looked questioningly at Harry, who mimed it being spilt down a beard. 'Oh,' he mouthed back, then returned his attention to Snape, who was about to start drinking.

When he realised he had an attentive audience, Snape lowered the potion and growled, 'Do you mind?'

'Not at all,' said Lupin pleasantly.

Harry grinned at Snape. 'Don't mind us.'

Even Dumbledore had turned his head slightly towards him.

Snape glared at all three of them. _If looks could kill..._

Turning his back on them, he stalked across the room and wrenched open a door. Harry glimpsed a small bathroom as Snape slammed the door behind him, then the room was filled with silence.

Harry knew both Lupin and Dumbledore's ears were straining as much as his but he suspected that Snape would prefer to suffer several moments of nausea than embarrass himself in their presence.

However, a moment later, they heard an even louder rendition of Dumbledore's earlier performance.

'Well, he is much more robust than Dumbledore,' Lupin explained as Harry doubled up with laughter. Dumbledore chuckled softly, but it became much wheezier as Snape returned.

Both Harry and Lupin moved quickly towards the bed, but Snape beat them to it. 'I told you not to exert yourself,' he scolded, pulling the pillows out from under Dumbledore's head so that he was laying flat on his back. He then pointed his wand at the shelf above the wardrobe. Harry just had time to see what looked like an oxygen mask whizz past as he ducked.

Lupin had a hand on the doorknob. 'What do you need?'

'Ventriculum – purple flask, third shelf from the top, left of the desk.' Snape didn't take his focus off Dumbledore.

'It hasn't ... really ... helped –' Dumbledore struggled to draw breath, '– before,' he completed, as if to prove to himself, as much as the rest of them, that he could do it.

'That was because the supply was too fresh.' Snape reached behind him to accept the necessary potion as Lupin rushed back into the room. Harry was surprised to see that the flask was actually filled with gas, not liquid.

Pulling the stopper with his teeth, Snape forced open a slit in the mask now covering Dumbledore's mouth and pushed the neck of the bottle into the gap. He then once more pressed his wand against Dumbledore's front, on the space between the rib cages.

'Potter, hold his nose,' he ordered.

'What?' Harry was certain he hadn't heard right.

'The headmaster's nose - pinch it so he can only breathe through his mouth.' He continued to press his wand to Dumbledore's chest and began to mutter softly, giving a small cough every half minute or so.

This ritual continued for over fifteen minutes, during which time Dumbledore seemed to relax deeper into the mattress and Snape's coughing became steadily worse. It ended when Snape suddenly fell back into Lupin's waiting arms, barking like a heavy smoker. He gave one last wracking cough, then silence fell.

Harry just stood beside the bed, watching – stunned – as Lupin helped Snape to an armchair before the fireplace. Snape was trying to fight off the assistance, but Remus stood firm.

'You've helped me immensely by making the Wolfsbane potion for me. Give me a chance to repay you a little, will you?' he admonished, standing back, watching Snape trying to normalise his breathing.

'I wouldn't try too hard, Remus; Healers make the worst patients,' a soft voice rose from the bed.

Snape jumped up (a little unsteadily), slapped Lupin's hand away, and rushed over to the bed. 'Sit him up, Potter,' he ordered, reaching into his robes and removing yet another phial - this one filled with a pearly liquid. Once Dumbledore was upright, Snape emptied the phial into his mouth.

Harry was a little anxious when he noticed Snape's lip twitch slightly, and his eyes develop an almost malicious gleam, but before he could protest, he felt Dumbledore's weight shift against his arm as he moved to sit up properly, independent of assistance.

'No, you don't,' Snape pressed him back down. 'As you said, I'm the Healer, and I'm prescribing several hours bed rest.' And he stood over Dumbledore, arms crossed, as if daring him to disobey.

Harry picked up the empty phial. 'What did you just give him?' he asked warily, unwilling to believe that Dumbledore's strength could return so suddenly, certain there had to be a catch.

'Phoenix tears.' Snape took the phial from Harry's hand.

'And that's it?' Harry looked from Dumbledore to Snape. 'Why didn't you cure him sooner?'

'Because, Potter, even someone with your lack of intelligence surely knows that you can have too much of a good thing. Whilst phoenix tears effect some miraculous cures, unfortunately there is no cure for the potion the headmaster drank last year. Phoenix tears can only restore his strength temporarily, and less effectively the more he takes. So he decided to reserve his doses for _special_ occasions.' Snape's lips thinned.

'And that gas stuff, ventric-something. You were absorbing his coughs, weren't you?'

'Very good, Potter; five points.' Snape's stance straightened even more, looking very much the schoolmaster. 'Ventriculum works by breaking down toxins within the blood in the lungs. When combined with the correct spell, the result is that the toxins are transferred to the one casting the spell who, providing they are healthier than the victim, are able to employ their own immune system to fight against it.'

Harry glanced from Snape to Lupin, then down at the now-sleeping Dumbledore. 'So what happens now?'

'You, Potter, shall return upstairs.'

Harry looked over at Lupin, who nodded. 'Go on Harry, get some rest; you're going to need it. Severus and I will take turns watching over Dumbledore.' He smiled reassuringly as he held the door open.

Harry thought briefly about arguing, but decided there really wasn't any more he could do down here, and he would need all his strength. Nodding at Lupin, he bid them goodnight, then returned to the dormitory, retrieving his Cloak from Snape's office on his way through.

_x_

Harry punched a lump out of his pillow and tried to find a more comfortable position. He felt angry with himself – he was going to need all his strength tomorrow for the confrontation with Voldemort, but he couldn't seem to settle comfortably. And judging by the amount of tossing and turning going on in the next bed, Ron was also having a restless night.

When Harry had returned to the Gryffindor common room, he found Neville almost pleading with Ron to spend the night in the seventh-years' dormitory and when Harry came through the portrait hole, he was added to the invitation. Neville had claimed that it was because it was their very last night at Hogwarts and, since they hadn't known that Ron and Harry would be given their own rooms when seventh year started, they hadn't had the chance to have a 'last night' after sharing a room since they were eleven.

Harry had found this argument a little weak – by rights, _all_ the roommates should have been present and both Dean and Seamus had left as soon as their exams were finished. He was more inclined to believe it was more to do with the fact that Neville didn't want to spend a whole night in such a large room all alone, but he couldn't think of a sufficient argument against the proposal.

In frustration, Harry changed position again. Why couldn't he get to sleep? He did feel quite exhausted, after all. But even though his body craved oblivion, his mind was unable to quiet, focused, as it was, several floors below where Lupin and Snape were keeping vigil over Dumbledore's potion-filled form.

Harry thought, for a moment, of getting Dobby to fetch a Sleeping Draught from Snape when –

_CRACK!_

'AAH!'

'_What?'_

Neville sat bolt upright in his bed, his round face staring wide-eyed around the moonlit room. His yelp of surprise woke Ron, whose hand whipped his wand out from under his pillow to point at the threat which was crushing Harry.

'Oh, it's only you.' Ron stowed the wand back under his pillow as the threat jumped down from Harry's bed.

'That's a house-elf,' said Neville, rather unnecessarily, as Harry rubbed his bruised abdomen.

Dobby stared up at Harry, his large eyes filled with fear. Harry found this strange – Dobby was usually bursting with excitement at the prospect of doing his bidding, though, come to think of it, Harry hadn't actually summoned Dobby, the idea for the errand having only just entered his mind.

'Harry Potter, sir …' Dobby was shaking like a leaf.

Harry's stomach tightened. Dobby was absolutely terrified. Had Voldemort turned up a day early?

'Harry Potter …' Dobby twisted one of his many hats in his hands.

'What's wrong, Dobby?' Harry knelt forwards on his bed to better look down at the swaying house elf.

'Harry Potter … Dobby was cleaning the forbidden sector this past hour –'

'Forbidden sector?' Ron frowned at Harry, who shrugged.

'It is what we call rooms which the house-elves will not go near, on pain of death. The forbidden sector's master forbade the school house-elves from these rooms and even Professor McGonagall cannot get them to go against the existing order. Great punishment awaits any school house-elf which trespasses upon the sector's sanctity –'

'Great punishments?' Neville stared wide-eyed at Dobby, looking like he, also, was going to faint.

'If house-elves aren't allowed to trespass, what were _you_ doing there?' asked Ron.

'None of the other house elves does any cleaning in the forbidden sector. Nor does Mr Filch. Nobody goes there now, not since the sector's master left. Only dust and dirt. So Dobby has been cleaning these rooms because Dobby was not at Hogwarts when the order was given. But now,' Dobby was shaking violently now, 'the forbidden sector's master has returned and Harry Potter is in great danger. Why else would he be here but to kill again?'

Harry could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Had Voldemort taken command of the Chamber of Secrets? How would he react when he discovered the Horcrux was missing? Should he alert McGonagall to the fact that the school had been invaded while the students were still here?

'Where are you going?' asked Ron, as Harry jumped up and started pulling on his dressing gown.

'The dungeons. I need help on this.'

'But the dungeons are the forbidden sector,' squeaked Dobby.

Harry's blood turned to ice in his veins. 'Voldemort is in the dungeons?' He grabbed Dobby's shoulders, though whether to stop Dobby shaking, or himself, he wasn't sure.

'Not He Who Must Not Be Named.' Dobby's eyes were so large, they seemed to obscure the rest of his face. 'Pro-pro-fessor …' His voice trailed to a very faint whisper. 'Snape.'

'_Snape?'_

Harry and Ron jumped at the sound of Neville's shout.

'Snape's here? In the school?'

Dobby nodded fearfully.

Harry didn't like the look in Neville's eyes. The only time he had ever seen that look was when Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban and Neville had thrown himself into the DA.

'Neville, no!' Ron made a desperate grab at him as he streaked past but his fingers only grasped air. Quickly grabbing their wands, Harry and Ron gave chase.

'Neville, get back here!' shouted Ron as Neville disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor leading from the Gryffindor common room.

Harry was surprised the whole school wasn't awake. They weren't exactly being quiet about this. Filch would no doubt be upon them any moment but, in the meantime, they needed to stop Neville before he gave the game away. Harry rounded another corner … and landed flat on his face.

'_He jinxed me!'_ Ron was rubbing his back where Harry's foot had connected, causing him to trip.

'It doesn't matter.' Harry helped Ron to his feet. 'Are you OK?'

Ron's hands travelled all over his body as if taking inventory. He nodded shakily.

'Come on! We have to stop him.'

They reached the top of the marble staircase just in time to glimpse Neville disappearing down the Potions steps; even two shortcuts hadn't enabled them to catch him. Jumping the last three steps, Harry still wasn't giving up and put on an extra burst of speed, his long legs causing him to almost trip down the dark stairs leading to the dungeons.

But it wasn't enough. Neville had his wand out and was shouting _'Expelliarmus!'_ when Harry and Ron ran into the back of him.

Neville didn't seem to notice. He gaped at the two wands which had flown into his outstretched hand, then at the bed behind Snape. As well as disarming Snape, he had also disarmed Lupin, and that extra wand had made Neville aware that the former Potions master was not the room's sole occupant.

Snape's dark eyes flashed as he glared past Neville's shoulder at Harry. 'Telling tales out of school, Potter?' His voice was deathly quiet.

Harry chanced a quick glance at Dumbledore snoring softly near the far wall. 'I haven't been telling tales anywhere,' he replied softly. 'In _or _out of school. Dobby saw you before when he was cleaning and came to warn me that you were in the castle.' He tried to enter the room, but Neville was blocking the doorway, his chin slightly slack as he repeated, 'Dum … Dum …' over and over in a very squeaky voice.

'It's all right, Neville.' Lupin, roused from his nap before the fireplace when his wand had flown from his pocket, gently led Neville over to the armchair.

Only after he was settled and Lupin had placed himself before him, cutting off his view of Dumbledore, did Neville finally blink and lose some of his dumbstruck expression. He gazed from Lupin to Harry, then Ron and, finally, Snape.

'But you _killed _Professor Dumbledore,' he addressed Snape. 'Didn't you?'

'Neville,' Lupin dragged Neville's chin down until he was looking at Lupin. 'Does Dumbledore look dead to you?'

Neville's eyes flicked over to the bed. 'Is that a trick question?'

Lupin smiled slightly. 'Admittedly, he isn't in top health, but I assure you he is still very much alive.'

'But if Professor Snape didn't kill him, why did Harry say he did?' His eyes stared questioningly at Harry.

'To trick Voldemort,' replied Harry.

Neville's expression hardened ever so slightly. 'And you've know all this time? Both of you?' He looked between Harry and Ron, who nodded.

'We're sorry, Neville.' Harry meant it. 'But it wasn't our secret to tell.'

Neville gazed at Snape. 'And you've been hiding here and nobody saw you?'

'We've only been here tonight.' Lupin gently removed his and Snape's wands from Neville's hands.

'But why are you here now?' Neville frowned, puzzling over the problem. 'I would have thought Dumbledore would be trying to catch You-Know-Who …' His voice trailed off as a light seemed to spark in his eyes. 'No,' he breathed, again gaping at them. 'He's coming here? When?'

'Too much information, Longbottom,' Snape almost purred as Lupin helped Neville stand. 'The matter does not concern you. All you need worry yourself with is whether you have packed all your belongings ready for your train journey tomorrow morning.'

Neville pulled his arm from Lupin's grip. 'No! No way! You're not packing me off back to my gran when both Harry and Dumbledore need my help. I'm staying right here!' He stepped back out of Lupin's reach and folded his arms.

'And you think you can make all the difference to their fight, do you? What do you intend to do – throw a pot plant at the Dark Lord?' Snape advanced on Neville.

To Harry's surprise, Neville stood his ground. 'I can do a lot more than just garden,' he declared. 'I was in the DA and I went with Harry to the Ministry of Magic. I helped fight against those Death Eaters who were here last year. _And_ Harry's been teaching me even more stuff this year.'

Snape's eyes darted to Harry. 'Is that why you were getting so behind with your teaching duties, Potter? Competent teachers know better than to waste precious hours on worthless, extra-curricular activities.'

Harry clenched his teeth together, forcing his anger down. He didn't want to disturb Dumbledore.

'_I'm not worthless!'_ Neville was almost shaking with suppressed emotion.

Snape's lip curled as he lazily dragged his gaze back to Neville. 'Wake the headmaster, Longbottom, and it will be the last thing you ever do, regardless of how much you think you are worth.'

Again, Harry was impressed as Neville stood his ground, though he did risk a quick glance at Dumbledore as his soft snores caught slightly on his breath.

Neville looked at Harry. 'What was the point of us learning all that stuff in the DA if we're never going to use it?'

'I meant for you to be able to defend yourself properly if you were ever attacked, not to deliberately look for trouble.'

'If You-Know-Who is coming here, it's not me who's looking for trouble. I can help you. You know I can. After all, you're the one who told me I did really well on my prac last week.'

'He does have a point,' said Lupin. 'He's not as bad at Defence as most people believe. When he was in third year, he was the first student to successfully tackle a Boggart; in fact, he did it twice.'

'And in the DA,' Harry joined in, 'he was second only to Hermione to manage a Shield Charm. And like he said, he fought at both the Department of Mysteries two years ago and here at Hogwarts last year.' He felt it wise not to mention that Neville had come off decidedly second-best after both battles; Snape didn't need encouragement with his low opinion of Neville.

Yet the more Harry thought about it, the more he realised Neville had long since left his poor skills at Defence behind. From the first time he had forced that Boggart-Snape into his grandmother's dress, he had exceeded most people's expectations of his abilities, encouraged along the way by the DA and drawing incentive from the Lestranges' escape from Azkaban. Only Harry and Dumbledore knew how close Neville had come to standing where Harry was now and, had Voldemort chosen differently, Harry knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Neville would have been up to the task.

It was this knowledge that made him realise that both he and Snape were not doing Neville any favours trying to exclude him from forthcoming events. Just as that knowledge now made Harry grab Ron's hand and walk across the room to stand beside Neville.

'You didn't have proper friends when you were growing up, so you wouldn't know,' he told Snape, causing his eyes to flash dangerously, 'but this is what friends do. They stand by each other through thick and thin.'

Harry, Ron, Neville and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, facing Snape, as a battle raged behind the dark eyes.

'This is not a good idea,' Snape ground out as his gaze finally slipped from Harry to Lupin.

'We'll let Dumbledore be the judge of that, shall we?' Lupin sounded slightly bemused.

Snape's head shot round to look at Dumbledore. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to wake him and drag him into the debate, but when he turned back, his lip was curling again.

'There is no need to disturb the headmaster over such a trivial matter as Potter's lack of sensible judgement. As he has demonstrated numerous times in the past, he delights in taking responsibility for his actions, so it will be interesting to see him try to explain his reasons for this one when Professor Dumbledore wakes.'

As Harry fought to control his anger again, Ron almost shouted, 'Why don't you stop picking on everybody all the time, you old meany?'

Dumbledore jerked in his sleep, making Ron look slightly ashamed of his outburst.

'What did you say to me, Weasley?' Snape whispered dangerously.

Ron dropped his voice to the same level. 'I said you're old and you're mean and I don't care what Dumbledore says. You're a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor, so you're a cowardly snake, not a brave lion.' Ron's ears were bright red. 'And you're jealous!'

As Harry forced the image of the roaring hat Luna had worn to Gryffindor Quidditch matches to the back of his mind, Lupin stepped between Ron and Snape, whose face had gone the colour of sour milk, his fingers flexing as if he was practising squeezing Ron's throat.

'He didn't mean anything, Severus,' he commented, pushing Ron further back. 'He's tired and anxious, as are we all.' (I'm not anxious,' muttered Ron in the background.) 'So if you can give them something to counter the adrenaline, do so. Then I would suggest you try to get some rest yourself; don't worry, I can easily watch over Dumbledore.' He held Snape's gaze, the bemused expression back on his face.

Snape glared back at Lupin for five seconds, then he spun on his heel and stalked out to his office, returning a couple of minutes later. After he had all but thrown three phials of midnight blue liquid at them, he silently held the door open.

'What's this?' Neville wanted to know.

'A good night's sleep,' said Lupin as he herded them towards the door. 'Come on, Neville.' He pushed Neville a little harder to get him to move. 'I'm sure you can't wait to get back to your dorm and ply Harry and Ron with questions.'

As the door closed behind them, Harry heard Snape say, 'I intended for them to get to sleep immediately, not spend the remainder of the night talking their heads off,' but he didn't catch Lupin's reply. Neville seemed to have recovered some of his fury and was struggling against Ron as he dragged him across the office, and Harry hurried over to help his friend.

By the time they had managed to get Neville up to the Entrance Hall, Harry's arms were killing him.

'_Will … you … come … on!'_ grunted Ron as Neville dug his heels in.

'I want to know what's going on.'

'And we'll tell you,' said Harry. 'But we need to get back upstairs first.

Ron pulled out his wand. 'Will you get moving?'

Neville eyed the wand. 'Professor Snape's got you under the Imperius Curse,' he stated as he glanced up at Ron's face, his expression hardening. 'Both of you.'

'Snape hasn't got anybody under the Imperius Curse, Neville,' Harry sighed tiredly. 'Least of all, me. I can fight it off, remember?'

Neville lost some of his conviction. Harry pressed his point.

'Look, do you trust Lupin?'

'Yes,' replied Neville, though he didn't sound very certain.

'And do you trust Professor Dumbledore?'

'Yes.' That one was stronger.

'And what about me?'

'Of course!'

'Then you can trust Snape,' said Harry.

Neville still didn't look convinced though. 'But You-Know-Who ordered Snape to kill Dumbledore.'

'Voldemort ordered _Malfoy_ to murder Dumbledore,' said Harry patiently. 'Dumbledore is the one who told Snape to kill him.

'And Snape didn't want to? He's a Death Eater.'

'He hasn't been a Death Eater since we were born. And no, he didn't want to kill Dumbledore. That's why they planned the fake murder.'

'If you really wanted somebody dead,' Ron joined in, 'and you were trying like crazy to get to them so you could kill them, and then you were suddenly told that somebody else had killed them, would you still try to kill them yourself?'

'No' Neville shook his head (Harry was sure he was thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange). 'They'd be dead. That's the important thing.' He glanced from Ron to Harry. 'And that's what this is all about? Tricking You-Know-Who into not killing –'

He broke off as a mew sounded in the background.

All three of them spun around, Neville's eyes growing as large as Mrs Norris's lamp-like ones staring at them from the top of the marble staircase. And beside her …

Harry tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. How much had Filch heard?

'Breaking one last rule before you leave?' The bloodshot eyes roamed over the three of them, coming to rest on Harry as his normally tight-lipped smile stretched enough to show several yellowed teeth. He stepped to one side of the staircase, his arm moving in a sweeping motion.

'You should know the drill by now. After you,' he all but chuckled as they started to drag their feet up the staircase.

Ron swallowed as Filch banged on the door to McGonagall's office. A kind of doomed silence stretched between them all as Filch shook slightly with ill-concealed delight. Finally, a crack of light appeared as the door opened.

McGonagall blinked, confused, at Filch.

'Argus, do you know what time it is?' She broke off as she spotted Harry, Ron and Neville beyond Filch's shoulder.

'I caught these students out of bed, Professor,' Filch announced smugly.

'Technically, we're not students anymore,' Neville tried to explain.

'That is neither here nor there.' McGonagall was quickly recovering from the shock of being woken up in the middle of the night. 'Inside. Now!' She held the door open and sternly watched the three of them troop past like condemned men.

'Thank you, Mr Filch.' She shut the door on Filch's disgruntled face. Harry was sure he had been looking forward to watching the proceedings.

'Well?' she turned on them. Harry was surprised flames didn't shoot from her nostrils.

Harry, Ron and Neville stared back.

'I would like to know what three Gryffindors are doing out of bed at this time of night.'

Neville glanced at Ron, who shook his head slightly.

McGonagall pounced on the sign of weakness. 'I would confess now, Mr Longbottom. Misplaced loyalty will only get you deeper into trouble.'

Neville stood his ground, although his face had paled noticeably, his lips pressed tightly together as extra determination not to break Dumbledore's confidence.

'Like Neville said,' Ron drew McGonagall's attention away from Neville, 'we're not students anymore.

'I would expect the Head Boy to exercise better judgement in his decisions to follow his friends into trouble. I assume this was _your_ idea?' she said, transferring her fury to Harry. 'You may be a member of staff, but not to the seventh-years. I don't care if the school year is ended or not, you do not have the right to lead students into questionable adventures at _any_ time of the day or night,' she shrieked. Several of the portraits had covered their ears.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

'_Come in!'_ McGonagall rounded on the new entrant. 'Now really, this is not to be borne; I would have expected better of you, Granger.'

Hermione gazed unflinchingly at McGonagall. 'I have a message for Harry, Professor.'

'For Potter?' McGonagall's fire diminished considerably.

Hermione looked at Harry. 'He said to let the cat out of the bag.'

McGonagall flared up again. 'What was that about a cat?'

Ignoring her, Harry stared at Hermione, who answered his unspoken question with a simple nod.

'He said we're to take her to him … now.'

'You're to take me to whom? Potter?' McGonagall gazed from Hermione to Harry, clearly not pleased that she was not being consulted on the matter, her displeasure increasing as Harry held the door for her. 'Who are you taking me to see?'

'You wouldn't believe us if we told you,' Harry informed her. 'After you, Professor.'

Fortunately, their little procession didn't run into Filch again as they made their way down to the Entrance Hall, McGonagall growing angrier by the minute as her attempts to discover their destination were met with stony silence. When they reached the top of the staircase leading down to the Potions classroom, she stubbornly refused to take another step.

'Who could you possibly want me to meet in the dungeons at this time of night?'

'You'll see,' growled Harry, forcing her ahead of him. He slowly took his wand out. After all, there was no telling _how_ she would react.

Hermione, Ron and Neville led her through Snape's office to the door leading to Snape's private quarters. Harry prodded McGonagall in the back to keep her moving.

'Really, it's much too late for these games.' She stopped, stunned, as she spotted Snape standing by the fireplace.

'_You!'_ McGonagall reached into her dressing gown, but her fingers had barely closed around her wand when it soared through the air and landed in Harry's outstretched hand.

'_What do you think you are playing at, Potter?'_

A frail voice cut through the tension. 'Perhaps I can explain.'


	23. Chapter 23: The Founders' Key

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE –**

**The Founders' Key**

McGonagall spun around so fast, she almost overbalanced.

'Albus?' she whispered as the colour drained from her face as though someone had pulled a plug. She blinked once at Dumbledore, and then toppled forwards, straight as a felled tree.

'Over here.' Snape turned the armchair in front of the fireplace so Lupin could easily lift McGonagall into it. Already starting to come out of her faint, she shook uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville exchanged worried glances.

'It's all right; it's merely her system's reaction to the shock,' explained Dumbledore. 'I did rather take her by surprise.'

McGonagall gripped the chair's arms in an effort to steady herself as she gazed across at Dumbledore. 'I don't know what you all think you're playing at, but the explanation had better be good.'

'Oh, it is,' Dumbledore assured her. 'Harry, if you please.'

McGonagall frowned as she gazed from one to the other.

'Firstly,' Harry began, 'as you can see, Professor Snape did not murder Professor Dumbledore a year ago. It was all a plan cooked up by Dumbledore and Snape to fool Voldemort. Unfortunately, in order for the ruse to succeed, they had to fool everyone else as well. Please accept their sincere apologies for the trick.'

McGonagall glanced up at Snape, who looked less than pleased to be included in the apology.

'And were the rest of you also in on the trick?'

'Remus (McGonagall looked taken aback to hear Harry refer to Lupin by his first name), Ron, Hermione and I learned the secret last August, Ginny came on board over Christmas, Susan Bones at Easter and Neville just before Filch caught us.'

For several minutes, McGonagall stared around at them, her mouth slightly open. 'I'll move my things out of your office at once, Albus.'

Dumbledore threw Snape and Lupin a knowing look.

'That won't be necessary, Headmistress,' drawled Snape.

'_You_ are in charge of Hogwarts, Professor,' added Lupin. 'You have been for a year now.'

'Albus never actually tendered his resignation –'

'A death certificate is a pretty formal resignation, wouldn't you agree, Professor?' Hermione put in.

'Well, if you don't intend to resume your position as Headmaster, why _are_ you here, Albus?'

It was Harry who answered her. 'To prepare for the final confrontation with Voldemort.'

McGonagall blinked. 'Here?'

Harry nodded.

'But why? He's never tried to attack Hogwarts before.'

'And he probably won't come here intending to attack now, though he may bring Death Eaters with him to act as a distraction from his real purpose – to check on his Horcrux.'

McGonagall paled. 'He has a Horcrux?'

'He had several, though most have been destroyed.' Harry eyed McGonagall nervously, afraid she might faint again.

'Several?' whispered McGonagall. Harry nodded. 'How does somebody destroy _several_ Horcruxes?'

'With great difficulty,' both Harry and Snape muttered. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

'Anyhow,' Harry ploughed on, before McGonagall could get too overwhelmed by the fact that there had been multiple Horcruxes, 'what we would like you to do is safely get the students heading home on the Hogwarts Express first thing tomorrow. Then we need you to summon Hagrid and ask for the Founders' Key.' He smiled as McGonagall's jaw dropped. 'Yes, we intend to lure Voldemort into the Hallows.'

McGonagall stared, gaping, from Harry to Dumbledore, who nodded.

'But the Founders' Key alone won't open it.'

'We have the whole key,' Harry assured her.

Her eyes darted to Dumbledore. 'You tracked down _all_ the heirs?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Yes, and kindly address all questions to Harry, please, Minerva. He is, after all, the team leader. I wouldn't dream of planning anything this bold.' The moustache twitched.

'And what exactly is _the_ _plan_?'

'You, the teachers and members of the Order are to engage and occupy the Death Eaters, keeping them from being able to offer Voldemort any help. At the same time, the heirs, along with a select group, will lure Voldemort, preferably alone, into the Hallows, allowing its doors to seal behind us. All the Horcruxes, except one, have been destroyed, and that one can only be destroyed by Voldemort, so we need to trick him into doing that, then it may be a matter of simply leaving him locked in the chamber and letting time destroy him. If it comes to that, then the fewer people inside, the fewer will be sacrificed.

'And now,' Harry pressed, 'we all need to get as much sleep as possible out of the rest of the night.' He offered a hand to help McGonagall stand. 'Professor Dumbledore and I will meet you in your office at nine-thirty. We would like to be present when you get the Key from Hagrid. And be gentle with him.' Harry grinned. 'He may be a little the worse for wear.'

Early next morning, Harry got Dobby to bring him enough breakfast for four, claiming that he wanted to surprise Ron, Hermione and Ginny with a going-away breakfast party, but as soon as Dobby had gone, Harry grabbed his Cloak and snuck down to the dungeons.

'I wasn't sure what you liked,' he began by way of greeting as Snape stared suspiciously at the food. 'I had to let Dobby think it was for Ron, Hermione and Ginny.'

'I'm certain it shall all be most delicious, Harry.' Dumbledore smiled; Harry thought he still looked very weak and tired.

'Oh, buck up, Snape,' scolded Lupin as he reached for a plate of eggs and bacon. 'The school's food hasn't killed you yet and you're going to need your strength.'

Snape curled his lip at Lupin but didn't say anything, probably because Dumbledore was pushing a laden tray towards him. Harry and Lupin exchanged a brief glance, but resisted the urge to laugh or even grin, as they settled down to what would possibly be their last ever breakfast.

At a quarter past nine, Snape spread Harry's Invisibility Cloak over both his and Dumbledore's heads, and with Harry and Lupin a step ahead, they slowly made their way up to the headmistress's office.

'Did all of the students get away safely?' asked Dumbledore as McGonagall conjured up a comfy chintz armchair for him (he had refused to accept the head's chair because it now rightly belonged to her).

'The Express departed from Hogsmeade station twenty minutes ago,' McGonagall assured him, fussily settling him into the armchair; despite the events of the previous night, she still seemed to find it difficult to believe that Dumbledore really was alive and kept touching him … his head, hair, shoulders, hands. 'I've also sent a call out for every member of the Order of the Phoenix to assemble here. They should start arriving over the next fifteen minutes.'

'Good, then if you could please summon Hagrid?'

To Harry's surprise, McGonagall seemed reluctant to comply with this order as if, by doing so, she would somehow be sealing their fates. It was only when Snape tried to grab her wand to do it himself that she pulled herself together and sent a glowing Patronus racing from her window towards Hagrid's hut.

'You do realise he's going to want to know what is going on when he sees the four of you. It's not like you can all fit under Potter's Cloak.' McGonagall turned back to face them.

'It's OK, Professor,' Harry dug in his pocket. 'We can hide in your private quarters and watch using this.' He held up Hermione's Far-Seeing Eye. McGonagall stared at it with revulsion. Lupin and Dumbledore gazed at it curiously. Snape looked at Harry as though he had slipped in his estimation.

'Where did you get … _that_ … Potter?' The dark eyes continued to glare penetratingly.

'Hermione bought it at Christmas.' Harry didn't particularly want to get caught up in an argument with Snape. 'Look, we really need to get this set up; Hagrid will be here any minute.'

Snape looked like he wanted to get more information out of Harry, but an extremely brief glance in Dumbledore's direction saw him reining in his curiosity. He was dutifully attentive as Harry quickly explained how it worked and hesitated only a moment before following the others in pressing their wands first against the fake eye, then their own eyes. By the time Hagrid tapped very lightly on McGonagall's office door (Harry imagined the soft sound was greatly amplified by Hagrid's headache), the eye was strategically positioned on McGonagall's desk and Harry, Lupin, Dumbledore and Snape were safely hidden in her bedroom, eyes tightly shut as the scene in the headmistress's office played out behind their closed lids.

'Yeh wanted ter see me, Professor?' Hagrid almost whispered, wincing as he did so. Obviously his head was being very unforgiving and Harry wondered if it wouldn't be best to keep him away from even the Order's activities.

'Yes, Hagrid.' McGonagall looked him in the eye – not an easy task since he kept trying to squeeze them shut against the light. 'I would like you to give me the Founders' Key, please.'

That made Hagrid's eyes open. He gaped at her uncomprehendingly. 'The Founders' …?'

'Key, yes.' McGonagall confirmed that he hadn't misheard her request.

'But I don' –'

'You are the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, Hagrid – at least, that is what you have spent several years proudly telling everyone you have met – so you do have that key upon your person. And I would like you to surrender it to me please. Now.' She held out her hand, waiting.

Hagrid spent several more moments in pain-filled silence then, realising that McGonagall wasn't going to let him return to the comfort of his soft pillows until he had complied with her wishes, he grudgingly began to empty his pockets.

'We'll be here all day,' muttered Snape dryly.

'Shhh,' scolded Dumbledore as Lupin chuckled softly.

After ten minutes, McGonagall's desk was buried under an extremely large pile of coins, string, dog biscuits, keys, weed killer, gardening tools and bowtruckles. Even McGonagall looked taken aback by the amount of stuff Hagrid had managed to store upon his person.

'I told yeh,' mumbled Hagrid as he dug deep into yet another pocket. 'I don' …' (another dog biscuit, a small key and two Sickles joined the pile) '… have …' He started to rummage in another pocket but suddenly stopped, staring at the key he had just dug out and which McGonagall was now holding up. 'I …where'd yeh ge' tha' from?'

One of McGonagall's brows arched. 'You just gave it to me, Hagrid, exactly as I requested.'

Hagrid continued to gape at the key as he unconsciously patted his jacket pockets. 'I've never seen tha' key before Professor.'

'Nevertheless, you did have it upon your person and you surrendered it to me. As requested.' McGonagall tucked the key inside her robes.

'Bu' –' Hagrid's hand grasped at air; he had been reaching for the key as if he wanted to examine it closely.

McGonagall began handing Hagrid's other belongings back to him. Several more minutes passed as pockets were refilled but, finally, her desk was free of all of the gamekeeper's possessions.

'Now, if I were you,' McGonagall gently steered Hagrid to the door. 'I'd call by the hospital wing and ask Poppy for something to help you sleep off that headache.'

'How–?'

'I know what last night was, Hagrid.' McGonagall gave a small sympathetic smile. 'I also know that you were at the Hog's Head and didn't return until extremely late. It's all right; I was feeling pretty forlorn myself.' She patted his elbow. 'So, like I said, you get yourself back to bed – it was most impolite and inconsiderate of me to get you up so early when you were feeling unwell. It's the first day of the holidays so it's the perfect time to sleep late.'

Despite being quite a lot bigger, Hagrid didn't try to fight McGonagall off at all, allowing himself to be slowly shepherded out to the spiralling staircase, eyes squeezing shut against the thump inside his head, shoulders slouching tiredly as he started to make his way back to his beckoning hut.

McGonagall rested her forehead against the closed door. 'You can come out now,' she called.

As the four men entered from her private apartments, she turned and removed the key Hagrid had just given her, offering it to Dumbledore, who passed it to Harry.

'The Order should be assembling, Albus.' McGonagall's eyes had followed the key's transfer from Dumbledore to Harry but she remained silent on the matter. 'Would you like to address them?'

'No.' Dumbledore allowed Lupin and Snape to settle him back into his armchair. 'I think it would be best if they were not made aware of the facts concerning Severus and myself, not until such knowledge no longer places them at risk. So not a word, Minerva; this is _our_ secret.'

McGonagall looked as though she wanted to argue with this but then the lips pressed into their familiar line. 'If you think that is best, Albus.'

'I do.' Dumbledore held her gaze a moment.

McGonagall returned it unflinchingly. 'Then, if you will excuse me, I need to greet the others before they come looking for me and stumble upon the two of you.' She gave a brief nod as her eyes flicked between Dumbledore and Snape and then she turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

'Harry, if you would be so kind as to fetch Miss Bones and bring her here.' Dumbledore was still staring after McGonagall, frowning slightly. 'Unnoticed, please.'

Harry gathered up his Cloak and went in search of Susan.

He slowed as he approached the Hufflepuff dormitory; Moaning Myrtle was floating in front of the entrance. As she looked up at the sound of Harry's feet, he drew the Cloak back from his head.

'Oh, excellent look.' She grinned appreciatively. 'I've got a message for you. She's not here.'

Harry eyed her warily. 'Who's not –?'

'The girl who was hiding in the Hufflepuff dormitories. Professor Sprout came down here to make sure nobody was left behind so the girl … Susan, she said her name was … went and hid in my bathroom instead.'

'Is she there now?'

'Yes. You aren't going to get up to anything you –?' she started to ask but Harry didn't hang around, quickly reversing direction and racing towards Myrtle's bathroom.

'You were told to fetch Bones, Potter, not take any … detours.' Snape's dark eyes narrowed as they focused on the items Harry was carrying when he led Susan into McGonagall's office.

'It's all right, Severus,' Dumbledore stepped in to keep the waters calm. 'It saves Harry fetching them later.'

'Where's Professor McGonagall?' Susan's face was turned towards Professor Dumbledore but her eyes were anchored upon Snape.

'She is currently organising the teachers and several others to rally against Lord Voldemort's possible supporters.'

'Your Order of the Phoenix?'

Dumbledore was taken aback only momentarily. 'Their fame has spread, I see.' The pale eyes smiled up at her. 'Yes, the Order of the Phoenix.'

'So You-Know-Who is definitely coming here, then?' Susan glanced around the group.

'We don't know,' Dumbledore answered her. 'We've laid the trap, but it remains to be seen whether Voldemort shall be tempted. Our preparations may yet be for naught.'

'But you don't think so?'

'No,' sighed Dumbledore.

'So what happens now?''

'We discuss strategy. What are you doing here, Miss Bones?'

Everybody looked up as McGonagall returned.

'I asked her here,' Dumbledore said. 'Are the Order members assembled?'

McGonagall slowly dragged her gaze from Susan to Dumbledore. 'Er, yes, although not as many have turned up as I would have liked.' She fully addressed Dumbledore. 'Bill, Fred and George Weasley have all answered the call but Arthur hasn't put in an appearance. Bill thought Fudge might be keeping all the Ministry's staff close but Kingsley and Tonks both managed to get here, so the twins believe Molly may have confined Arthur to The Burrow. Well, she has almost lost him to the Order's cause once before …' She give a half-shrug.

'Who else has come?'

'Only Alastor and Dedalus. And of the staff, Horace is escorting the students on the Express and Hagrid is presently recuperating in his hut; everyone else is here. I have Firenze watching the forest, Madam Hooch the sky, one outside the Room of Requirement, just in case; one on each of the five tunnels, again, just in case; one watching the Willow, two on the front door and two on the gate. If Hagrid wakes up and is well enough, I'll get him to cover the grounds.'

Harry noticed that she seemed to have left out the tunnel from Honeydukes and wondered if she knew of its existence. He chanced a quick glance at Lupin, who shook his head very slightly.

'Do you have any idea what time we all might be expected to …?'

'Probably not until after dark, though it wouldn't be wise to relax our guard in the meantime.'

'And when are the heirs arriving?'

'They're already here.'

'Are you trying to tell me that the _Prophet_ actually got something right?'

Dumbledore nodded as Snape's eyes glittered darkly.

'And the others?'

Dumbledore waved his hand in an introductory gesture at Susan, who said, 'Helga Hufflepuff.'

The hand swept in Harry's direction. 'Godric Gryffindor,' he said proudly.

McGonagall was still staring at Snape, clearly unwilling to believe that he could be descended from _any_ founder, least of all Ravenclaw.

'How … you were in Slytherin.' She glanced back down at Dumbledore. 'He was _Head of House_!'

'You know as well as I do that we are Sorted according to character, not blood. Both your parents were in Ravenclaw and yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor.' Dumbledore arched a silver brow.

'I'm not descended from one of the Founders –'

'I am,' Harry said.

'Yes, and you were in Gryffindor –'

'Only because I asked the Hat not to put me in the house it picked first. Not that it changed the Sorting Hat's opinion,' Harry said disgruntledly. 'It still reckons I would have done really well in Slytherin.'

Harry noticed Snape go very still, the dark eyes darting to Dumbledore.

'The Sorting Hat didn't want to put you in Slytherin,' McGonagall half-laughed.

'Ask it!' Harry glared at her.

'The quaffle is at your end of the pitch, Minerva.'

McGonagall transferred her glare to Dumbledore, who merely gazed up at her over the half-moon spectacles. Glancing around the group, she got only challenge in return: Lupin and Susan curious, Harry and Dumbledore daring, and Snape angrily begging her to prove Harry wrong. But nowhere did she see a face discouraging her from reaching for the patched, ragged hat perched on its high shelf.

It took a couple more minutes of dithering before the lips tightened further.

Harry gasped as the light suddenly went out; McGonagall had levitated the Hat onto his head.

'Hmm, difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see.'

'Why are you repeating –?'

'Hush, I'm following orders. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting …So where shall I put you? Let me think. You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head. Yes, it had definitely better be –

'Slytherin!'

Harry reached up, pulled the Sorting Hat from his head and glared up at McGonagall. 'Now do you believe me?'

'You should have been in Slytherin all this time?' asked Susan, with a nervous glance in Snape's direction.

Snape's expression was thunderous; he looked like he wanted to snatch up the Sorting Hat and tear it into tiny pieces. Harry gripped it tighter.

'Now that we have established that the heirs are being truthful, perhaps we can return to the little matter of Lord Voldemort's defeat?' Dumbledore arched a brow at McGonagall and Snape.

'Very well, so Potter and Professor Snape are both what they claim to be, but having the entire Founders' Key won't do you a lot of good without a door to unlock,' McGonagall pointed out. 'And according to the stories, it won't appear until You-Know-Who does. That won't leave you much time to find it and get into position.'

'Finding it quickly won't be a problem,' Lupin told her.

'Hopefully,' Harry.

Lupin frowned at him. 'What do you mean?'

'The Room of Requirement doesn't show up on it,' Harry informed him.

'Ah … yes …' Lupin looked slightly ashamed. 'We were never able to get it to work with that one. Probably part of the magic of the room.'

'The Room of Requirement doesn't show up on what?' McGonagall glanced back and forth between Harry and Lupin.

'This.' Harry reached inside his robes and tossed a folded piece of parchment down onto the desk.

Dumbledore leaned forwards eagerly. 'Is that –?'

Lupin nodded as Harry touched it with his wand.

'Who are Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?' McGonagall stared at the spidery lines crawling across the parchment with alarm and confusion. Nobody answered her.

'That's … that's a map of Hogwarts,' said Susan.

'What's that?' Lupin pointed at the Great Hall. Harry peered closer.

Where a solid wall had stood behind the teachers' table, there was now a gap in its centre, as though a doorway had been cut into it. Two lines led away from the gap, outlining a passageway which just petered out to nothing.

'Why does it just stop like that?' McGonagall enquired.

'Perhaps the roof collapsed in on it or something,' suggested Susan.

'Or it could be the same thing in play as with the Room of Requirement,' Dumbledore put forwards. He glanced up at Harry. 'Did the Chamber of Secrets appear on it when you were in second year?'

'I don't know; I didn't have the Map then.'

Snape's head shot up. 'But you did have it in your possession a year later and you were being extremely dishonest about it then. Why should we trust that you are being honest now?'

'This isn't necessary, Severus,' said Dumbledore.

'I believe it is, Headmaster.' Snape was still glaring darkly at Harry. 'Potter would have us place our trust in an object of questionable origin. Considering what is at stake, would it not be wiser to determine whether or not said object is deserving of that trust?'

'Where did you get this, Potter?' McGonagall gazed at Harry curiously.

'Er …' Harry could feel colour creeping up his face. Snape's eyes flashed with triumph.

'Stop this, Snape,' sighed Lupin. 'There is absolutely nothing to fear from that map.'

'And what do you know of its history, Professor Lupin?' McGonagall frowned at him.

'I helped create it. I'm Moony; that was my nickname.'

'And who are the others?' McGonagall still looked confused.

'Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew, Padfoot was Sirius and Prongs was –'

'James?' McGonagall shook her head slowly. 'Why such names?'

Lupin briefly explained the reason for both the nicknames and the Map's creation.

'James and Sirius performed the Animagus Transfiguration during their fifth year?' McGonagall slumped against the desk. 'Why didn't they tell me? I knew they were extremely bright but … _Fifth_ year?'

Snape was furious. 'Not to ruin such a touching moment –'

'That will do, Severus.' Dumbledore cut him off. 'Now, I think it would be best if we make our way to the Great Hall. If that entrance has appeared, then it is very likely that Death Eaters, at the very least, if not Voldemort himself, are on the school grounds.' He glanced up as Snape leaned down and whispered something in his ear. 'Ah, yes. Minerva, do you have a small flask which we may borrow?'

McGonagall was clearly surprised by this request but only hesitated a moment before fetching a flask from her cupboards which Snape then filled from the bottle of Felix Felicis Harry had brought back with him when he went to get Susan. He then gave Harry's bottle to McGonagall.

'Have everyone take a large sip of that before engaging the enemy.'

'How long will it last?' McGonagall sniffed the golden liquid.

'Twelve hours. Hopefully, you won't need it for the full duration.'

'But it won't hurt to have it, though.' McGonagall recorked the bottle and tucked it inside her robes. 'We can use all the luck we can get.'

'Providing it works,' muttered Harry. Snape's face darkened.

'Are you implying that I am incapable of correctly brewing –'

'I was just thinking about what happened at Christmas,' said Harry, 'when two lots of luck worked against each other.'

'Is Voldemort likely to hedge his bets?' asked Lupin.

Snape frowned. 'Doubtful. The Dark Lord believes himself too powerful to need to rely upon such things; he's certainly never asked me to brew anything for him which could fall into that category. And he would not permit his followers to take anything as he would perceive it as a sign of weakness … and he does not tolerate weakness.'

While the others were discussing this, Harry felt something tug his robes. He glanced down and found Dobby staring up at him, his large eyes filled with fear. Harry crouched down beside him.

'What's wrong, Dobby?' he asked quietly.

Dobby twisted one of his many hats nervously. 'Dobby thought Harry Potter should know … Kreacher has disappeared.'

Harry jumped up so suddenly, he knocked the house-elf over.

'What is it?' asked Lupin.

'Kreacher's gone.'

'Probably means Bellatrix Lestrange is here.' Dumbledore reached for the Map 'There.' He pointed to the tunnel from Honeydukes. (Dobby's eyes grew larger at the sight of both Dumbledore and Snape.)

Several Death Eaters could be seen moving along the tunnel towards the statue of the one-eyed witch. Harry squinted at the tiny figures. Voldemort's name was not amongst them but Sirius's cousin was, as well as …

'Hah!' Remus jabbed a finger at the name 'Peter Pettigrew' and was halfway to the door when Dumbledore stopped him.

'_No!_'

Lupin looked imploringly at the former headmaster, but the steady blue gaze did not waver.

'He shall be dealt with when the time is right. For now,' he glanced up at McGonagall, 'Minerva, if you can gather your forces together near the third-floor corridor, do your best to keep Lord Voldemort's allies from advancing further into the school; especially try to keep them away from the Great Hall.'

McGonagall straightened in the same steely movement she had made when she first took over Dumbledore's office and then hurried from the room.

'Forces? You make it sound like an army marching to war.' Susan laughed nervously.

'This _is_ a war, Susan,' said Dumbledore gently. 'And, as with all wars, it shall not be won without further loss of life, as I explained at Easter.' He watched her closely. 'You are still with us, aren't you?'

Susan paled. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to faint but she remained upright and her voice was steady the second time she tried to say, 'Yes.'

Comfortable that Susan wasn't about to desert them, Harry crouched down to Dobby's level again. 'Can you do us a favour?'

The house-elf was all eagerness.

'Can you go to Gryffindor Tower and tell Ron and Hermione to meet me in the Great Hall?'

'Gladly, Harry Potter. Dobby is most happy to do as Harry Potter wishes.' Dobby's squeaky voice drew a sneer from Snape.

'And then,' Harry held Dobby back, 'get all of the house-elves together and hide in the Room of Requirement. That's an order. On no account are any of you to be involved in the upcoming battle. Understand?'

'But –'

'An order, Dobby.'

Dobby clearly wasn't happy with this. 'Dobby will do as Harry Potter wishes.' The large eyes filled with tears as, with a loud pop, he vanished.

'Is everything all set?' asked Dumbledore as Harry gathered up his broom, Invisibility Cloak and bag of destroyed Horcruxes; Snape tucked the second flask of Luck Potion into his robes. 'Then let us make our way downstairs without further delay.'

Avoiding notice by the Order, teachers, ghosts and even Peeves was made a lot simpler by the Marauders' Map. Harry's only concern, as they slowly helped Dumbledore down the marble staircase, was that Hagrid would wake up and come in, accidentally discovering that Dumbledore was still alive. He could just imagine what Hagrid's reaction would be.

Just as they reached the Entrance Hall, Ron poked his head out from the Great Hall.

'You took your time.'

'I am afraid _I _am to blame for that.' Dumbledore held the banister to steady himself.

'Are you criticising the headmaster's frailty, Weasley?' Snape's lip curled. Ron was saved the trouble of answering, though, because they had finally reached the Great Hall.

'Where's Ginny?' Harry frowned as he gazed down the room; only Ron, Hermione and Neville were present.

'Fred and George wouldn't let her come.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'I think they're scared of what Mum will do to them if anything happens to her.'

'And they managed to get Ginny to do what they said?' Harry found this hard to believe.

'No,' Ron shrugged. 'So they cursed her. Body-Bind.'

Privately, Harry thought Fred and George were probably hoping they would be killed in all of this because it would be preferable to what Ginny would be likely to do to them once she was mobile again.

'Why did you want to meet us here, Harry?' Neville gripped his wand tighter. 'Is You-Know-Who here?'

'That room has appeared on the Map.'

'Where?' Ron and Hermione both cried as Neville asked, 'What map?'

'There.' Harry pointed to the far end of the Great Hall. Half running, he led his classmates to the teachers' table and examined the tapestry hanging on the back wall.

'What are we looking for?' Hermione asked as she copied Harry hitting his hands against the tapestry.

'A hole … doorway … some sort of open –' The cloth suddenly gave way under the pressure, caving inwards into a hollow space. Harry expanded his field of probing until he felt the clear outline of an opening.

'Ron, grab the other end.' Harry grabbed a large fistful of the heavy fabric and pulled hard. It gave way only a fraction. He pulled again as Ron joined him in his efforts. Neville jumped in as well and, with the combined efforts of the three young men, the tapestry finally tore away, burying them under its dusty folds. By the time they had fought their way out from beneath its weight, Lupin and Snape had escorted Dumbledore the full length of the Hall.

Harry gazed through the archway which had appeared in the middle of the wall. Like on the Map, a passage stretched away from them, its end appearing to be nowhere, it was so dark. Harry stepped forwards (_'Lumos'_) and tried to see where it disappeared to but with no luck. He glanced at Ron.

'You game?'

'What do you think?' Ron grinned back and, before anyone could stop him, he stepped through the archway.

'No!' Hermione called out, too late, but nothing had happened.

'That wasn't very intelligent, Weasley.' Snape sounded disappointed as he pushed past Ron and held his lit wand aloft. 'It appears to be safe, Headmaster,' he called back.

'Then might I suggest we do not waste any further time?' Dumbledore held Lupin's arm for support as Snape led the group deep into nothing.

It took a good five minutes of countless bends and turns before the endless passage finally came to a dead end. Before them rose two of the largest doors Harry had ever seen. Made of timber so dark it was almost black, they stood three times higher than Hagrid and five times wider.

'I told you they were really big.' Harry grinned at Dumbledore.

'Have you been here before, Harry?' Neville sounded like he wished he was somewhere else.

'No,' Harry shook his head as he fished out the Founders' key.

'Then how –?'

'Not now, Neville,' said Lupin as Snape started to look annoyed.

Shining his wand at the doors, Harry saw that the lock was just like he remembered from his dream. A tiny leaden keyhole, just the right size for the key, was surrounded by three small round holes. He rubbed his finger over the top one and felt something carved into the wood. He peered closer and found it was a tiny ornate letter 'G'. He shone his wand at the other two holes and found that they were labelled with a 'H' and an 'R' but, before he could point this out, someone suddenly grabbed his hand.

'_Ow'_' Harry cried as Snape jabbed his finger with a lethal-looking needle, so long, it even had a handle. His immediate instinct was to suck his finger both to ease the pain and stop the bleeding, but he only got his hand halfway to his mouth.

'Don't!' ordered Snape as he pricked Susan's finger and then his own.

'What was that thing?' asked Susan as Snape stowed it safely away inside his robes.

'A bodkin.' The dark eyes glittered even more darkly in the very faint light. 'After you, Potter.'

'What –? Oh, of course.' Harry stopped trying to wring his sore finger and poked it into the hole below the 'G'. Susan reached for the 'H' hole and then Snape filled the one marked 'R'. Harry awkwardly inserted the key into the lock with his left hand and, as everybody seemed to hold their breath, he turned the key.

The doors dissolved into nothing, leaving Harry, Susan and Snape looking like idiots, pointing their fingers at the air.

'Wow.' Ron, Hermione, Neville and Susan's jaws dropped as they stepped through the opening.

'What is this place?'

Everybody jumped.

'_Luna?_' was all Harry managed to get out as the doors reappeared solidly between Luna and the rest of the group. He frantically shoved his finger and key into their holes. '_Quickly!_' he urged as Susan hesitated a moment before joining him. Snape remained unmoved.

'We have to let her in!'

'She shouldn't be here.' Snape glared angrily at Harry.

'We can't just leave her out there!' cried Harry.

'Open the door, Severus.'

Snape stared at Dumbledore a moment then, with a grim expression, reached for the Ravenclaw hole.

'Why did you lock me out?' Luna sounded more surprised than hurt.

'What are you doing here?' Harry stared at her.

'I was looking for my things and saw you go into the Great Hall. I thought perhaps I was dreaming because Professor Dumbledore was with you but I pinched myself and it hurt.' She gazed around. 'What is this place?'

'Somewhere you shouldn't be.' Snape grabbed her by the shoulder, obviously planning to drag her back to the Great Hall.

'Let her stay, Severus.'

Snape turned back. 'Headmaster –'

'She may stay,' Dumbledore reiterated. 'As I recall, Miss Lovegood was a member of my army, and was also one of the few who did not shy away from danger both at the Ministry of Magic two years ago and here at Hogwarts last year. She has proven herself deserving of the honour of fighting alongside Harry, if he wishes it.' He gazed at Harry, awaiting his decision.

'Er …' Harry's face grew warm with everybody looking at him.

'Well, Potter, the headmaster has said you may have your way. Does Lovegood stay or go?'

Harry bristled beneath Snape's condescending tone. 'If I had my way, none of you would be here; it would only be Voldemort and me. That way, nobody else could get hurt.'

'Well, you shan't be getting that wish,' said Snape. 'You need Bones and myself here, at least. And, in keeping with your propensity to place innocents at risk, naturally you couldn't resist dragging your … _friends_ … into this.'

'Harry couldn't keep us away.' Ron took a step towards Snape; Hermione grabbed his shoulder. 'Like we said last night – this is what friends do. They stick together!'

As much as Harry was flattered by his friends' support, they were wasting time. 'She stays!' he said, making everybody stop and stare at him. 'She stays.'

He waited for Luna to join the others, then stepped back into the room.

Snape frowned at the doors as they closed behind them, then gazed at Harry with a curious expression.

Ignoring him, Harry wandered over to Hufflepuff's tomb. He spread the Marauders' Map upon the flat stone and examined it closely. The Death Eaters had progressed down a level but McGonagall's people were putting up a good fight, forming an almost solid barrier between the Dark forces and the rest of the school. Hagrid was still sleeping off his hangover and Harry felt a small twinge of guilt at Hagrid's disappointment when he realised he had missed out on all the fun.

'I'm very proud of you.' Dumbledore had followed him with a cup of gold liquid. Over near the doors, Snape was distributing doses of Felix Felicis to the others. 'You need the love and support of your friends at this most difficult time.'

'Tell me that again after I get them all killed,' muttered Harry.

'What is it?'

Harry glanced round to find Dumbledore watching him closely. 'What do you mean?'

'Your emotions don't seem to be matching what you should be feeling at the moment. You seem to be more angry than frightened or nervous.'

'I …' Harry stared at the lined face before him. It was really annoying, sometimes, how Dumbledore was able to see through him so easily. 'I'm just mad about something Ron said earlier.'

Dumbledore waited.

'He said there was a way for the last Horcrux to be destroyed without me getting destroyed as well.'

The pale blue eyes narrowed slightly. 'Creating your own Horcrux?'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'How …?'

'It is the only possible way to safely guard against Tom killing you.'

'Yeah, well that's not all. Ron wanted me to kill _him_ to do it.'

'And what did you say?'

'What do you think I said? I told him there was no way I was going to do something like that. He's my best friend. How he could even think of offering, I don't know.'

'Don't you?'

'What?' Harry continued to stare at Dumbledore.

'Look at it this way. If Ron's life was at risk, and the only way he could possibly be saved was if you died in his place, would you? Would you die for him?'

'I …'

Dumbledore's blue gaze seemed to penetrate through to Harry's soul. 'Well?'

'Yes,' Harry admitted. 'But that's different. I wouldn't be telling him to become a Dark wizard.'

'And when has anyone told you to turn from the light?' asked Dumbledore, his voice little more than a whisper.

'Hermione said I'd need to stop being good in order to kill Ron and make the Horcrux.'

'But it would only be your temporary actions which would resemble something akin to darkness. Your heart would still be good.'

Harry gaped at Dumbledore. 'So you're saying I should do it then? I should kill Ron?' Had this room made everyone go mad?

'No.' Dumbledore shook his head. 'I'm merely pointing out that your anger with Mr Weasley is unjust. You have stated that you would have no qualms giving your life for your friends. You do them a disservice if you deny them the right to likewise put their lives on the line for you.'

Unbidden, Sirius's words echoed through Harry's head: _'You should have died, as we would have done for you.'_

Trying to camouflage his confusion, Harry peered at the Marauders' Map.

'Any sign of Tom?' Dumbledore gazed curiously at the parchment.

'Not yet.'

'Then we still have time.' He crooked a gnarled finger at Snape and Lupin, who detached themselves from the group.

'Some manners wouldn't go amiss, you know,' sighed Lupin as Snape reached a hand towards Harry's head. The hand stopped midair.

'Would you be so … _kind_ … as to donate some of your hairs, Potter?' Every word seemed to be dragged from between Snape's motionless lips as reluctantly and painfully as a dentist extracting deep-rooted teeth.

Dumbledore gave a very slight cough. Snape's face darkened further.

'Please.'

Aware that Snape's temper was being held by the thinnest of threads, Harry resisted the urge to enjoy his discomfort as much as he would have liked. Instead, he schooled his features into a blank expression as he pulled out several hairs. Snape added them to a small bottle of Polyjuice Potion which he passed to Remus, then he poured a measure of Luck Potion for himself.

'What's going on?' Harry glanced at the three of them warily.

'Oh, nothing major.' Dumbledore took up his own cup. 'I just thought we might have a little toast while we still have the chance.' He held his cup aloft; Lupin and Snape followed suit. A solemn air descended upon the group.

'Many years ago, one of the brightest students to have ever attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry chose a very dark, twisted path which has held the wizarding world in its grip for over fifty years. Today that path shall be straightened and the grip released. Today, Tom Riddle shall learn the final lesson Hogwarts has to teach him; that goodness creates hope whilst evil creates fear.

'Today Tom's fear shall rise up before him. Fear of death, fear of hope, fear of the future. His fear of death led him to maim his own soul. His fear of hope led him to believe mere words describing a time when his tyranny might end. His fear of the future led him to try to prevent those words becoming fact and, in doing so, combined all three fears into one.

'Today, Tom shall learn that he, and he alone, chose his downfall. _He_ chose to create Horcruxes, _he_ chose to believe Sybill Trelawney's prophecy, _he_ chose the one who would share in that prophecy with him by trying to kill a small child. Today, Tom's choices shall turn those fears against him.

'To Lord Voldemort's Chosen One: Harry.'

'To Harry.'

Both Remus and Snape reinforced Dumbledore's tribute, Remus loudly and proudly, Snape, in only the second time Harry had heard him speak his first name, with something akin to calculation and veneration glittering darkly behind his eyes.

Harry didn't have time to analyse Snape's attitude though, because Ron, Hermione, Neville, Susan and Luna started to make their way over to them. Harry quickly downed his shot of Luck.

'Who are those people?' Hermione was glancing warily towards the arches surrounding the hall. Looking up, Harry saw that every arch had a person, like a dark shadow, standing beneath it. And that was all they seemed to be doing: standing there. They weren't moving, speaking or even looking curiously at the intruders.

Remus and Snape spared each other concerned glances as they slowly reached for their wands but Dumbledore merely frowned at them, peering over the half-moon glasses. He spent several moments puzzling over their identity and purpose, then the brow smoothed.

'I believe, Harry,' he said with a touch of awe in his voice, 'that they are the other descendants. Every person who has stood upon the direct line between yourselves and the founders of this school.'

Before Harry could do anything more than let his jaw drop at this news – he certainly didn't get a chance to go over to them and check them out – Dumbledore opened the bag Harry had brought with him. 'Miss Bones, if you would like to do the honours?' He handed Susan Hufflepuff's damaged cup, then dug in the bag again. Susan frowned at Harry, who pointed at Helga's waist.

'Severus.' Dumbledore passed Snape the raven's head and body; Snape turned and strode purposefully towards his ancestor's tomb.

'And lastly …' Dumbledore drew Gryffindor's sword, Slytherin's locket and the Sorting Hat from the bag. Harry accepted his tokens and carried them over to Godric Gryffindor's final resting place.

The stone face made sliding the sword between the clasped hands a little awkward, but Harry finally got it into position, then he placed the thousand year old hat upon its owner's head, reverently rubbing a thumb along the noble brow before turning back to the others, fastening the locket around his neck as he went.

'Still no sign of Voldemort,' Harry told him. It was a little disconcerting seeing himself standing where Lupin had been only moments before. He went to check his watch to mark the hour but stopped when he remembered it had been ruined in the exam lake two days earlier.

'Here.' The Remus Harry pointed his wand at Harry's wrist. The watch not only restarted, but also wound itself to the correct time.

'Now, this is what we shall do.' Dumbledore drew everybody's attention. 'Harry shall go to Miss Timothy's bathroom –' ('Who?' Ron asked, earning a jab in the ribs from Hermione.) '– and wait for Voldemort there. Actually open the washbasin so he sees it closing when you leave, then fly back here as fast as that broom can carry you.

'Remus,' Dumbledore addressed the Polyjuice Harry. 'You wait just outside here in the corridor,' he nodded towards the gigantic doors, 'hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. When Harry gets back, toss him the Cloak and get back in here, making sure Voldemort sees you entering this chamber but not the exchange with Harry. Use this to give yourself a bit of warning.' He handed the Far-Seeing Eye to Lupin.

'You –' he turned to the real Harry, '– try to ensure that you have enough of a lead to enable all of that to happen, then wait outside, _hidden_, until Voldemort comes in here, then follow him inside; the doors should seal behind you.'

'The Eye won't give you much warning that I'm back,' said Harry worriedly. 'Use the Map as well.' He pushed it towards Dumbledore.

'But how will _you_ know when You-Know-Who is close?' asked Ron.

'I'll manage,' Harry assured him. He gazed at the group before him. 'Last chance to get out while you still can.'

Four faces stared resolutely back at him.

Dumbledore glanced around the group. 'Can anyone think of anything to add?'

'Yes,' Harry dug into the bag again and pulled out the Shield clothes he had gotten for his birthday. He gave an item each to Ron, Hermione and Neville. 'Er …' He gazed at Luna uncertainly.

'She can have mine,' offered Hermione, pulling off her gloves.

'No, you don't,' protested Ron. 'Do you want people to say I let my girlfriend go without any protection while I had some?' He took off the Shield Hat. 'She can have that.' He passed the hat to Luna.

'Ron –'

'Now is hardly the time to get into this discussion, Granger.' Snape eyed both her and Ron darkly. 'If Weasley wants to refuse added protection, let him; the potion he just drank should be sufficient for him to be going on with.'

Hermione looked like she was going to continue to argue but, after catching Dumbledore's eye, she mumbled, 'Fine.'

'Then let us get ourselves into position,' said Dumbledore gravely.

After a quick check of the Map for the safest route to Myrtle's bathroom, Harry gathered up his Firebolt and joined Remus, Snape and Susan at the doors.


	24. Chapter 24: Heart and Soul

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR –**

**Heart and Soul**

'Why are you hanging down there?'

Harry looked up to find Moaning Myrtle peeping around the corner of her cubicle.

'You'd better be careful, you know; you don't want the Basilisk to kill you. If it did, you'd get to stay with me.' She grinned at him romantically.

'Who says I'd become a ghost?' asked Harry testily. He really didn't have time to get into a life-and-death discussion with Myrtle.

'Aren't you afraid to die?' Myrtle giggled.

'No, I'm not!'

'There's no need to snap.'

'Look, Myrtle, I'm busy at the moment, so can you just shut up, OK?'

Myrtle donned a hurt expression. 'You don't look like you're busy to me. You're just –'

'Myrtle.' Harry was starting to lose patience. 'I mean it. Shut up. I'm trying to listen to what's going on out there.' He jerked his head towards the bathroom door, the other side of which echoed with the sounds of Order of the Phoenix members successfully putting up a good fight against the Death Eaters. At least, Harry hoped they were being successful.

Myrtle's wide eyes stared fearfully at the door. 'It sounds like people are being murdered,' she said in a scared voice, but a moment later, Harry knew she was faking when she added, 'Do you think they'll be my friends?' cool as you please, her grin widening.

'Only if they're unlucky,' muttered Harry.

'So what _is _going on out there?' Myrtle gazed curiously at the door.

'Voldemort is here and he brought company. The teachers are fighting them.

'Voldemort?' Myrtle gazed over at Harry. 'Who's he?'

'You know who.' Harry wondered why Myrtle was pretending not to know the man who killed her, then remembered he wasn't known by that name when she died.

'You-Know-Who?' Myrtle continued before Harry could enlighten her. 'I've heard the students talking about him. He's killed lots of people, hasn't he?'

'Including you.'

'No, I was killed by – What?'

'Voldemort killed you.' Harry gazed up at Myrtle's now genuinely frightened face. 'He used to be Tom Riddle. He was a Slytherin prefect here when you died. He's Salazar Slytherin's last descendant and he spoke Parseltongue to tell the Basilisk to kill you.' He knew he probably should have told her a bit less abruptly, but he was more concerned about trying to hear what was going on in the rest of the school. Myrtle was one distraction he could do without.

'That … that _thing_ is _here_?' Myrtle's fear was rapidly being overcome by boiling anger. '_Where is he? I'll … I'll …_' She zoomed back to her toilet.

'_Wait_'

Harry had an idea. Myrtle poked her head through the cubicle door.

'Do you have to use the plumbing or can you go through walls and stuff like the other ghosts?'

'Walls and stuff.' Myrtle didn't sound happy about being held up.

'I need your help.'

Myrtle continued to glare but didn't move any closer to the S-bend. Harry took this as a good sign.

'You want to get Voldemort for killing you, right?'

She nodded.

'But you're not going to be able to do much except scare him and he doesn't scare, believe me. Other than that, you can't do anything because you're just a ghost.'

'It's not _my_ fault I'm just –'

'I know it's not your fault. It's _Voldemort's _fault. And he will pay for it, as well as all the other people he's killed.'

'Like who?'

'My parents.'

Except for the little fact that she was dead, Harry could have sworn Myrtle stopped breathing. She floated an inch above the floor, her mouth gaping open, completely at a loss for words for the first time in Harry's experience.

'I … I didn't know,' she said in a small voice. 'You're James Potter's son, aren't you?'

Harry nodded.

'You look like him. Except –'

'My eyes, I know; I've got my mother's eyes.'

'Actually, I was going to say you've got Lily Evans's eyes.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, watching Myrtle closely. 'She was my mum.'

'She was one of the few students who didn't tease me and make fun of me. She was the only one who never called me _Moaning _Myrtle. When she became Head Girl, she even used to call me Miss Timothy. Only the teachers had ever called me that before.' She sighed. 'So, how am I supposed to make that Slytherin boy pay for your mum and me?'

'By helping me.'

Myrtle's curiosity rose. 'How?'

'I need to lure Voldemort into a special room downstairs – it's kind of hard to explain – but it's the only place where he can possibly be defeated. That's what I'm trying to listen for; when he's almost here. Now, if you can keep an eye out for him _out there, _–' Harry nodded towards the corridor again, '– you'll be able to sneak through the walls and warn me faster than a living person can. It's your chance to make him sorry for making you a ghost who _can_ walk through walls. Use that against him.' Harry held his breath, hoping Myrtle would agree.

She glanced towards the door, then back at him, the familiar grin firmly in place. 'What does he look like now?'

As time wore on, Harry began to wish he hadn't sent Myrtle away. The sounds of the battle being waged between McGonagall's people and the Death Eaters continued to reach his ears but he wasn't able to tell what was happening other than there were still survivors on both sides or the fighting would have stopped. He checked his watch … again … but it was only four minutes later than the last time he had checked.

'He's coming.'

Harry almost lost his grip on the side of the gaping hole in the floor. 'How far away is he?'

'About five seconds.'

'_Five seconds?_' Harry pulled himself out of the pipe and grabbed his broom.

'Four … three …' Myrtle was standing halfway through the wall, peeking down the corridor. Harry pulled out the counterfeit cup and pointed his wand at the door. It swung open.

'Two …'

Harry kicked off and the broom sped through the open doorway. As he turned into the corridor, a fiery blast hit the wall, narrowly missing his head. Grinning despite the close brush with death, Harry leant forwards over the Firebolt's handle, confident that Voldemort wasn't far behind.

He was almost down to the Entrance Hall, angry blasts still sending stone chips flying at him from the walls, when he heard a woman's voice cry out '_Master?_' Glancing back, Harry caught a quick glimpse of Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew behind Voldemort. The Order obviously hadn't managed to contain all of the Death Eaters, but Harry didn't get a chance to wonder if it meant all of McGonagall's people were dead as he turned into the Great Hall because he had to concentrate on negotiating the turns in the tunnel leading to where Lupin was waiting.

As Harry reached the end of the last corridor, a jet of red light skimmed the top of his head, singeing several hairs and giving him the biggest fright so far. It also confirmed that Voldemort had just turned into the second-last passage. Rounding the bend, he slid off the Firebolt, tossed it at the waiting Harry'ed Lupin, snatched the Invisibility Cloak from the floor where Lupin had dropped it in his haste, and quickly pulled it over his head.

He didn't get a chance to catch more than three hasty breaths when Voldemort reached the doorway, Wormtail and Sirius's cousin skidding to a halt behind him. Harry pressed himself into the corner to avoid being bumped.

Voldemort stepped towards the doorway.

'Master,' Bellatrix Lestrange jumped in front of him. 'Do not act in haste. There is something not right here.' She glanced over her shoulder.

Voldemort ignored her, his attention focused upon the people in the room. His eyes flashed with lust and greed.

'Master, _please_!' Bellatrix tried again to stop her master entering the mysterious room but suddenly jumped away from him with a high-pitched squeal, as if she had been burnt.

His path clear, Voldemort's lipless mouth stretched in an evil grin. 'Bellatrix, Wormtail,' he purred, bending a finger for them to precede him. Wormtail tried to shrink into the wall. Harry pressed deeper into his corner. '_Now!_'

Both Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew gasped as they were thrown through the doorway.

Harry suppressed a snarl of frustration that Voldemort wouldn't be alone. Oh well, he supposed three against eight weren't too-bad odds. Pulling the Invisibility Cloak tighter about his shoulders, he followed his nemesis into the chamber.

Voldemort didn't seem to notice the doors lock behind him; his full attention was focused on Dumbledore seated on Gryffindor's throne.

'Bellatrix' he ordered, almost dismissively. 'Take care of _that_!' One long-nailed finger thrust in Snape's direction.

'With pleasure,' purred Bellatrix Lestrange, her tongue darting out in tiny flicks to moisten her lips, her eyes filled with hungry anticipation at the chance to make Snape pay for his betrayal.

'Wormtail,' Voldemort's voice contained more of a hiss this time; Wormtail cringed with fear. 'Guard that.' Yet another finger flicked out, this time pointing at Lupin. 'And see that no harm comes to it. I would be most displeased if you were to deprive our guest of my attentions while I deal with … _more important matters,_' he hissed, his gaze not drifting from Dumbledore.

Harry wondered if Voldemort realised he had slipped into Parseltongue though, judging by the effect it had on Wormtail, it was probably deliberate. He was about to draw Voldemort's attention when –

'_Your guest, Tom? I was not aware you had invited Harry to meet with you here. Quite the opposite, in fact; Harry is the one who extended the invitation to you. And you have graciously accepted._'

Every living face in the Hallows was staring at Dumbledore in varying degrees of shock, disbelief and bewilderment. Except Snape, Harry noticed absently as he tried to come to terms with the fact that Dumbledore could speak –

'_Parseltongue?_' Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked, her attention well and truly diverted from Snape. 'Master, how can he –? You are the last of Slytherin's blood. You are the only one who can –'

Starting to get over the initial shock of Dumbledore's multi-lingual abilities, Harry realised that Remus looked just as lost as the others as to what exactly it was Dumbledore had said. Voldemort might notice any moment, not to mention that the hour was nearly up. He let the Invisibility Cloak fall to the floor.

'Leave them be,' he shouted. 'I'm the one you want.'

Voldemort, Bellatrix and Wormtail span round. Voldemort's red eyes tried to bore into Harry but he was ready. There was no way he was going to let Voldemort in on the secret of just what this chamber was, but before he could employ the Occlumency Dumbledore had taught him, Bellatrix Lestrange flew between them with a high-pitched shriek, breaking Voldemort's eye contact; she had turned her back on Snape and paid the price.

'_I said I'm the one you want,_' Harry repeated.

Wormtail backed further away from Harry, his inability to understand Parseltongue causing him unwanted terror. It also made him not pay attention to his immediate surroundings. He backed into the other Harry, who gripped his shoulders tightly and spun him around.

'Hello, Peter.'

Even though Harry couldn't see his face, Wormtail's trembling back was a pretty good clue to the fear in his eyes as he gazed at the face of his fellow Marauder.

Voldemort spared each of his Death Eaters a brief scathing glare, angry that they hadn't done as instructed. He pointed his wand towards Neville and Luna, no doubt intending to relieve his pent-up anger upon them.

'I said leave them be.'

A weak chuckle sounded in the background. 'You dare to give the Dark Lord orders? Are you so vain that you think you are that powerful?' Bellatrix Lestrange spat at him as she got up from where she had landed halfway across the room.

'Oh, you do not know Potter as I do, Bella.' Voldemort kept his eyes focused on Harry. 'He has shown himself to be not weak when it comes to possessing power. But I don't think even he truly realises the extent.'

Harry frowned. Since when did Voldemort think he was powerful?

'I wonder, boy, if that old fool up there has told you just how powerful you truly are. Your existence was foretold. Oh yes, Harry Potter, I know of the late seer's claim that you would be powerful enough to destroy me. You are destined for greatness. The only thing which stands in your way is –'

'You?' Harry watched Voldemort warily, trying to keep his thoughts hidden from those red eyes. Voldemort's lipless mouth stretched in a tight smile.

'_You_.'

Harry frowned.

'You are the only one who can make use of the power lying at your very fingertips and, in so doing, alter the stories told about you from myth to fact. You are the only one who has the power to change all which has been cruel and painful in your life. You have proven yourself powerful enough to escape death. Shall we see if you are powerful enough to reverse it?'

'If you're talking about bringing my parents back, it won't work.' Harry glared defiantly at Voldemort. 'It's impossible. Even you can't bring anyone back from the dead or you would have done it with your own mother, just to make her suffer for being weak. Also, you would have brought all of your dead Death Eater mates back and had them getting around properly instead of just being controlled like the lifeless puppets that you made them. Sorry, Voldemort, but the answer is no.'

'I was actually referring to one who was taken from you but whom has never properly died.'

Harry's eyes reluctantly followed Voldemort's pointing hand. To his left he saw a stone dais, on top of which stood a tall, crumbling, pointed archway. Across the gap beneath the peak hung a tattered, black veil which was fluttering slightly as if in a gentle breeze.

Harry's chest tightened in recognition. The last time he had seen that archway, Sirius had just fallen through it, the veil falling back into place to separate him from the world of the living.

Harry glanced very quickly at Dumbledore, who was leaning forwards in Gryffindor's chair, a deep frown creasing his brow, his face pale, uncertainty in his eyes.

Harry gazed back at Voldemort. 'Sirius is dead. I saw him die. _She_ killed him.' He pointed at Bellatrix Lestrange.

'So certain, are you? Did you see his dead body lying broken and bleeding before you? Did you see his eyes staring lifelessly into yours? Did you hear death rushing towards him, embracing him, or life escaping him as he exhaled his final breath? Were you witness to any of these things?'

Even though Harry remained silent, Voldemort knew he had made him doubt the outcome of the events at the Ministry of Magic.

'You hear them, don't you?' said Voldemort softly, watching Harry hungrily.

Harry stopped breathing. Very softly, as if whispering with the silent breeze, he heard a voice. Several voices; the people who had fallen through the veil and not returned. Including Sirius. If he strained his ears, he could almost tell what they were saying, which one was Sirius.

'Only those of immense power have the ability to hear the ones who have gone beyond.' Harry heard Voldemort as if from a great distance. 'And they are the only ones with the power to reach through the veil and draw back those who linger between life and death.

'He hovers there, just out of reach, neither alive nor dead. Do you have the strength, Harry Potter, to pull your friend from his lifeless, deathless existence?' Voldemort's red eyes flashed with pure evil. 'Draw back the veil. If you have the strength to do that, you have the strength to challenge me. Or have you condemned your friends to a painful, _pointless_ death?'

Harry could feel Ron and Hermione watching him.

'Will you keep your godfather waiting? For two years he has languished in limbo, awaiting the arrival of the only one who has the strength to pull him completely back into this world.'

'If only the most powerful wizards can bring someone back who's fallen through that,' Harry jerked his head towards the arch, 'how come you don't do it? How come I'm the only one out of you and me who can?' Harry asked in challenge. He heard Bellatrix Lestrange hiss in the background that one so low would dare to speak to the almighty Lord Voldemort like that.

'Oh, we both possess the power to reach through the archway, rest assured that you are not above me on that but, of the two of us, it is _you_, Harry Potter, whom Sirius Black loved. Only that love, combined with your great power, can return him.'

Harry glanced past Voldemort's shoulder at Dumbledore sitting up in Gryffindor's chair. The white head shook slightly.

'Don't listen to him, Harry,' Neville called out. 'He's just trying to trick you into falling through that arch like that man, Sirius Black, did.'

'And what would you know of Black's passing, boy?' Voldemort spat angrily at Neville.

'I was there.' Neville's voice was shaking slightly. 'I saw him die. And so did Professor Lupin.' He gazed at the arch. 'I don't know what that arch is but Sirius Black didn't come out the other side. He just disappeared.'

'Then how do you know he isn't still alive?' Voldemort almost hissed.

'Professor Lupin said he was dead. And he's never wrong about anything.'

That's right, thought Harry. Of the people who had witnessed Sirius falling through that veil, Remus was closest to Sirius. If there was even the slightest chance that his best friend hadn't really died, he would know. And he certainly wouldn't have lied to Harry about it.

He glanced from Dumbledore to Voldemort and then the arch. Triumphant greed flashed in the hateful red eyes as Harry stepped up onto the dais and reached a hand towards the fluttering veil. The voices were whispering more loudly but he still couldn't make out what they were saying.

'Harry, no,' moaned Hermione. She sounded like she was crying.

Harry glanced towards Dumbledore again, then grabbed hold of the veil with both hands … and, with a rent of tearing cloth, pulled hard.

The archway crumbled, its fragile stones crashing down onto the dais in a cloud of dust as, with the scream of a thousand shattered souls, winds as strong as a tornado twisted around Harry, lifting him and throwing him across the room. He landed heavily, what little breath he had left knocked out of him as he slid to a stop against the base of Gryffindor's tomb.

Struggling into a sitting position, he noticed that the others had also been knocked off their feet by the forceful gusts. The only people who didn't seem to have been affected were Voldemort and Dumbledore.

'_Do nothing!_' shrieked Voldemort, as Bellatrix snatched up her fallen wand and pointed it at Neville.

'But Master …'

'Leave them. We shall get to them once I have dealt with Potter. I want them to witness the fate which their hero shall suffer at my hands. You need only ensure that they do not escape before that historic moment arrives.'

While Voldemort was busy telling Bellatrix what she could and couldn't do, Harry got unsteadily to his feet, experiencing one heart-stopping moment as he realised he had dropped his wand, but he breathed easily a second later as it was handed to him.

'Thanks.' He glanced up at his rescuer briefly as he turned to face Voldemort again … and stopped. He looked up again, his jaw dropping as he took in just who had picked up his wand and returned it to him.

The statue of Godric Gryffindor, which had been stretched out along the length of his tomb, had awoken.

Glancing around at the others, he saw that Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw had also risen from their repose, though they seemed a little more interested in examining their heirlooms than in what was going on before them. Neither of them seemed at all pleased to find their treasures rather the worse for wear.

'What hath been wrought upon mine cup?' Hufflepuff pushed a couple of stubby fingers through the burned base. 'How dost one take drink now? Didst thou bring a burning upon it?' She glanced up at Voldemort as he gave an angry cry, noticing, for the first time, that the Horcrux had been destroyed. 'Great evil hath been carved deep within its depths.'

'Evil which dost emanate from within thee.' Ravenclaw's stone eyes narrowed as she seemed to look through Voldemort, drawing knowledge from him which he probably hadn't realised he even possessed. She cupped the broken pieces of the eagle in her hands. 'Thou hast sunk to the deepest depths of evil, and thou hast drawn upon the glory of the founders to enable it. Thou art truly undeserving of the life which thou hast destroyed to meet this day. Thine evil dost greet its doom.'

'Thy face ist known to mine eyes.' Hufflepuff was staring at Voldemort very closely. 'One eventide, whilst at my scrying bowl, I didst share a vision of thee. Thou art Slytherin. Last of his blood.'

The other two statues stiffened at this revelation.

Voldemort seemed taken aback that a statue which hadn't seen the light of day in a thousand years could possibly know who he was.

'And might I also have the pleasure of knowing who _you_ are?' He glared at the carved stone, hatred disguising his surprise.

'Helga Hufflepuff.' She blinked at him.

Voldemort glare deepened, as if he would see inside her head to determine if she was speaking the truth or not; Harry almost burst out laughing at the idea of trying to perform Legilimency on a lump of stone. The glare grew thunderous as he glanced from Hufflepuff to Ravenclaw and finally Gryffindor, dawning spreading across his face as he suddenly realised just what he was being confronted with. His evil laugh echoed around the chamber.

'This is the help you called upon? Thousand-year-old ghosts? Oh, Potter,' he grinned evilly, 'you have done that which none before has ever done. You have proved me wrong. I claimed that you possessed great power and you prove that you possess only desperation.'

He glanced at the three statues, all of which were regarding him as though he were a worm. 'They will not help you. They are incapable of helping you. They are not real, only cold stone carved to hold the shape of three people who were foolish enough to challenge my ancestor. And you have now shared in that foolishness.' He laughed again.

'The time for games is over, Potter. It seems almost a pity to destroy you, here, in this cold tomb but, I suppose, it is a fitting end to die in a tomb. So, let us now see how long a mere boy can match himself against the blood of Salazar Slytherin.' He raised his wand.

'I'm not a mere boy,' Harry shouted. 'And my blood can match yours, and better it, any day.'

Voldemort sneered. 'It was your mother's blood which protected you, boy. Once. But no longer. Your blood is of no special value now.'

'That's what you think.' Harry said softly. 'You're not the only descendant here today.'

The red eyes narrowed. 'And what do you mean by that?'

'He dost speak truth that all four of Hogwarts heirs art gathered within these walls.' Ravenclaw stepped forwards to rest a hand on Snape's shoulder. Susan gave a slight start as Hufflepuff laid claim to her. And, with a loud clang as his sword fell to the floor, Gryffindor grasped Harry's shoulder.

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort seemed most annoyed by Snape's connection to the Ravenclaw line; surely he must have realised after he witnessed the destruction of the eagle but, before anybody could pass comment upon the revelation of the founders' heirs, a loud crash and splintering of wood made everybody jump, including Voldemort.

Looking past Voldemort's shoulder, Harry saw the doors healing themselves behind the massive statue sliding towards them, a screech worse than nails down a blackboard making everybody's teeth hurt, the floor shaking beneath its weight. Harry had seen that statue before, deep beneath the Great Lake.

Salazar Slytherin had arrived.

Voldemort stared at the giant statue of Slytherin, then his eyes gleamed redder and he smirked at Harry. Looking up at the stone face, he hissed, '_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._'

Harry watched in trepidation as Slytherin's mouth opened. Would the founder's power have brought Harry's Basilisk back to life?

But nothing happened. Voldemort's leer cracked slightly. '_Hear me. Oh great Slytherin, send forth your servant to do my bidding._'

But the only thing forthcoming from Slytherin's mouth was a dark hole.

'The Basilisk is dead, Voldemort,' said Harry. 'I killed it.'

Voldemort glared at Harry. 'You don't have the power. Your Mudblood mother's dying love wouldn't help you.'

'No,' said a voice, so deep its resonance vibrated through Harry; looking up, he realised Gryffindor's statue was speaking. 'But _I _dost haf the power to destroy Salazar's deadly servant, and I wouldst offer mine help to any which hast earneth the right to strike down evil in its darkest manifest.' And he stared unflinchingly at Voldemort.

The anger emanating from Voldemort hit Harry like a cresting wave. He was glad Gryffindor was holding his shoulder, because he probably would have landed flat on his back otherwise.

Ravenclaw was still staring at Voldemort appraisingly. 'Ist this the evil thou dost wisheth confined to this Hallows?' she asked.

'Yeah, that's him.' Harry nodded.

'And the dark ones which dost accompany him?'

'Them too.'

'Then thy task ist complete. Thou mayest leave these Hallows in safety and surety, in the knowledge that thou didst fulfil thine duty with full consideration for those whom dwell above. Fare thee well, young Gryffindor. Thou art truly of great power.' Rowena Ravenclaw smiled her gentle smile at him.

'Oh no, Potter. You and your friends don't get to leave just because some ancient statue says so. You lured me here in the hope of destroying me. So,' he raised his wand, '_destroy me_.'

Harry barely reacted in time. As a jet of green light shot straight at his chest, he instinctively cast _Expelliarmus_, the spell which served him so well three years ago. The two jets collided midair, and the narrow beam of light connecting his wand to Voldemort's changed from green and red to deep gold. Just as it had last time, Harry's wand vibrated violently as his hand tightened around it, gripping with all the strength he could muster.

He was concentrating so hard on maintaining hold of his wand that it took Harry a moment to notice that both Snape and Susan had also cast spells at Voldemort, beams from their wands connecting to the gold central one not far from where Voldemort's wand was also vibrating.

Harry prepared himself for the moment when the four of them would be lifted off the ground to glide across the chamber, but it never came. Apparently, even though they were surrounded by three tombs, the area was clear enough for the dome to spread out, and it was spreading, splaying outwards as the golden thread connecting the two foes splintered, a thousand offshoots arcing above Harry, Voldemort, Susan and Snape's heads, interweaving, forming a large golden, webbed cage of light.

'Not again!' Wormtail's terrified cry was muffled, distant, as he ran towards the other end of the chamber, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the nightmare which had probably plagued his dreams for three years.

'_Master?_' Bellatrix Lestrange was not so cowed, although she had no idea what was going on.

'Kill the others!' Voldemort shouted to her. 'Make them suffer!' His eyes were filled with anger as he struggled with his wand, trying to break the connection, both hands clamped around the length of wood so tightly, the white skin started to turn red with the strain, but to no avail. Harry tightened his own grip and focused on the thread, willing it to remain strong.

Beyond the dome, Harry heard a faint scream and almost dropped his wand. He tried to peer through the lines of light, but couldn't see if the screamer had been one of his friends or Sirius's cousin. All he could see were shadowy shapes and coloured flashes as battle was joined between Voldemort's Death Eater and Remus, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna.

Then the weight of Harry's concern for his friends lifted as beautiful, ethereal music shimmered around him, inside him, filling him with hope that this just might end happily. Every strand of the gold web was pulsing with phoenix song, echoing through the vast chamber, filling those within the dome. It reinforced the thought he had held since he had first joined his wand against Voldemort's, singing it loudly and proudly to the room and those within it:

_Don't break the connection._

Harry fought to hold the connection as his wand vibrated more strongly, desperate to do as the music bid, but it was so much harder to do. _Help me_, he begged the music, hoping against hope that Fawkes would somehow still his wand, knowing that the request was useless, just the plea of a desperate man. The music grew … fuller, rather than louder … clearer than it had been in the graveyard at Little Hangleton … and after a moment, Harry saw why. Not only were Fawkes's tail feathers inside Harry and Voldemort's wands creating the phoenix song. Fawkes had appeared just beyond the web, circling the dome, looking like a comet as fire trailed behind him.

But it was not from this quarter that help came. With a jolt which would probably have made Harry drop his wand had it been possible, a large stone hand clamped suddenly over his, grasping both his hands and wand in an unbreakable grip. Glancing up, Harry saw that Gryffindor had decided to add his strength to the equation. Gazing back around the dome, Harry saw that Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had also joined the party, holding both Susan and Snape's hands firmly around the ends of their wands as well, though Snape looked less than pleased with the arrangement.

Not that it mattered. With another violent shudder, large beads of light began to slide along the thread joining Harry and Voldemort's wands, moving up and down the length of gold between where Susan and Snape's beams joined in. Harry concentrated like crazy on the beads, letting the phoenix song strengthen him, forcing the beads back towards his parents' murderer. He needed to get all them completely up Voldemort's end of the thread but, no matter how hard he concentrated, they just wouldn't move past those extra beams. He glanced across at Snape who nodded, first at Harry, then across at Susan.

Even though Harry had explained to her what had happened after the Triwizard's third task so she would have some idea of what to expect, Susan still looked extremely frightened and bewildered by what was unfolding before her. Snape's nod only served to panic her further.

With a faint groan of frustration, Snape fought against Rowena Ravenclaw's hand as he pointed his wand further along the main strand, making his beam move closer to Voldemort's wand. The front bead moved slightly. Susan glanced around at Harry, who nodded again, but before she could copy Snape, Helga Hufflepuff made her decision for her, moving her hand in an arc so that Susan's beam also moved towards Voldemort. The light beads gave a final shudder and then slid along the golden thread, moving steadily faster and faster like stones rolling downhill.

'_Help me!_' hissed Voldemort as his wand vibrated more strongly, ordering the statue of his ancestor to offer him the same stablilising assistance which the other heirs had received, but nothing happened. The monkey-like face just stared at him expressionlessly, the giant mouth gaping stupidly above him. A brief flicker of fear flashed across his red eyes as they reluctantly followed the journey of the front bead of light … it was quivering inches from the tip of his wand … it moved oh so very slowly … trembling …

And then it connected.

A smoky point grew from the end of Voldemort's wand. As Harry and Snape both watched in fascination, (Susan had her eyes screwed tightly shut) the point stretched outwards, widening, until a large arch floated between Harry and Voldemort for a moment before vanishing. Then a head squeezed out of the end of the wand, followed by shoulders, arms and chest as a human body fell to the floor until, picking himself up off the floor where he had fallen, Mr Borgin gazed around the strange circle he had suddenly found himself in.

'You teach him for wrecking my business,' he ordered Harry, Snape and Susan, glaring at Voldemort with cold eyes.

Several screams echoed from Voldemort's wand, pain he had inflicted upon his victims, though they stopped almost as soon as they had started. Then another head blossomed from the wand tip, growing steadily larger, dragging a torso behind it, followed immediately by a second one. Two men dressed in rugged clothing stood up in the middle of the dome and surveyed the scene around them, the two mountain climbers Voldemort had murdered near the cave where the locket had once been hidden.

'So he _did_ cast some kind of curse upon us?' said the younger one as he gazed at Voldemort, then glanced up at the web of gold light above him. 'Wow.'

'You fight against him, son.' The older one looked across at Harry. 'All of you fight him. Don't let him get you like he got us.'

'Yeah,' said the younger one distractedly, still staring at the web. 'Give him what he –'

Harry didn't hear what else he said because, suddenly, more screams burst from the end of Voldemort's wand, mingling with the muffled screams and yells of the combatants outside the dome, echoing around them, seemingly endless as every Cruciatus curse Voldemort had performed recently was forced backwards from the wand which had inflicted them. Harry thought he would go deaf from the noise as it continued. Despite being only an echo of a once-living person, the young man covered his ears with his hands. Harry wished he could do the same but both of his hands were rather preoccupied with maintaining their grip on his wand.

Then the screams stopped as suddenly as they had begun as a giant snake, larger even than a Basilisk, burst forth from Voldemort's wand and fell to the ground. Harry was very glad that Gryffindor was crushing his hand within its own grip because if anything might have made him let go of his wand, it was this. In the moment before the snake vanished with yet another scream, he had seen that the snake's head was like Quirrell's had been back when Harry had confronted him in front of the Mirror of Erised. Almost. While the snake's skin still covered the outside of its head, the shape of that head was like it had swallowed something whole and that something was pushing against the skin, stretching it to its shape. One side of the snake's head had been Voldemort's face, but the other side had been Harry's.

Harry glanced up and found his shock reflected on both Susan and Snape's faces as they stared back at him, too horrified to say anything. Only Voldemort looked as though this new Reversal had not come as too great a surprise.

As more screams filled the dome, Harry wracked his brain, trying to think why he would be inside a snake's head. He had never been swallowed by any snake, not even the two Basilisks he had encountered. It wasn't until a smoky hand dropped to the ground, followed by more screams and then Cedric Diggory's body, that Harry realised just when in the chronology of Voldemort's life the snake had been. It was from the night Sirius had died, when Voldemort had possessed Harry in an attempt to trick Dumbledore into killing Harry for him whilst trying to kill Voldemort.

Harry's heart tightened and he struggled to breathe as, after Bertha Jorkins, the shadows of Lily and James Potter pushed themselves out of the end of Voldemort's wand. Both of them gave him loving smiles before joining the other echoes in whispering words of encouragement to Harry, Snape and Susan and hissing unheard words at Voldemort.

For over an hour (according to Harry's watch) every spell Voldemort had ever cast was Reversed from his wand, adding several more bodies, as well as almost deafening them all with all of the torture he had apparently delighted in.

Susan gasped loudly when her uncle emerged and Snape had paled even further as his mother joined the growing ranks of echoes circling just inside the walls of the dome. 'That's gratitude for you,' snapped Caractacus Burke after he fell to the ground. 'I generously gave your mother gold when she desperately needed it _and_ I gave you a job and this is how you repay me?'

Harry had been a little surprised when neither Moaning Myrtle nor the Riddles had been added to the list of sins, but then he remembered that Voldemort had used Morfin's wand to murder his father and grandparents and the Basilisk had killed Myrtle. Those had been two crimes which this wand had not committed.

It didn't seem to be very much to show for a life, all of this death and pain, Harry thought sadly as he took in the full magnitude of the evil which Voldemort had wrought upon the world. Nothing of value had been created, nobody had been helped; in short, no good had ever come of Voldemort's existence. It needed to stop. Now.

But how? he wondered as the new echoes changed, several quite ordinary (and increasingly simpler) spells being included amongst the bad ones. They were obviously nearing the time when Voldemort first started at Hogwarts and what would happen then, he didn't know. All he knew was that something had to be done soon.

Harry dragged his gaze from Voldemort and strained his eyes to see through the web, taking in the sight of Ron and Hermione fighting Peter Pettigrew, and Remus and Luna trying to keep Bellatrix Lestrange at bay behind Slytherin. Neville lay just near Slytherin's massive feet and, for a moment, Harry thought he was dead, but then he moved, moaning softly as he turned his head. He looked through the golden dome at Harry, his eyes full of fear and pain.

Harry felt frustration boil up inside him. This was getting nowhere. He was never going to destroy Voldemort at this rate. Professor Trelawney must have gotten it wrong. Unless …

The beads started to slide back along the thread towards Harry's wand as his concentration slipped. The prophecy had suggested that Voldemort might have to kill him. That _would_ destroy the Horcrux. But then how was he supposed to be the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord?

Harry stared, unseeing, at the line of beads moving slowly towards him as he thought about those words. He was the one with the power to destroy the _Dark Lord_. When he had created his first Horcrux, the man opposite him had taken an irrevocable step, leaving behind his old self and becoming the Dark Lord. _That_ was who Harry had the power to destroy. _That_ persona, forcing the Dark Lord back to the very mortal Tom Riddle.

And suddenly, he knew exactly what needed to be done.

'Mum, Dad.'

James and Lily Potter were suddenly beside him.

'I need you to tell Susan and Snape, when I say "Now", they're to break their link to this.' He nodded towards the light beads. 'When I say "Now".'

'We understand, dearest.' Harry's mother's sweet voice echoed in his ear a moment, then she was gone. A second later, Harry saw Lily whispering in Susan's ear. James was busily speaking to Snape, whose face grew even darker and Harry saw him snap something, clearly very angry. James gazed at the group of echoes harassing Voldemort and Eileen Snape drifted over. She said something which Harry couldn't hear, but he didn't know if she had managed to influence her son or not; Snape still had a thunderous expression on his face. Rowena did tighten her grip, though, and Harry took this as a sign that at least the statues were on his side. As Susan almost screamed, _'Harry, no!_' over the phoenix song, Lily drifted over to Neville a moment, then returned to be by her son's left side.

'_NOW!_' Harry was glad Gryffindor was holding his hand because he would have had great difficulty maintaining his connection with Voldemort's wand as both Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw pulled their descendants free of the dome, Hufflepuff standing on Susan's foot to stop her from running straight back beneath the golden umbrella of light. Almost immediately, the beads started to slide towards Harry, accelerating as they drew closer. First one, then another touched the top of Harry's wand, which started to glow a very faint green. The colour strengthened as more beads reached Harry, until the entire thread shooting from Voldemort's wand was bright green.

Reaching down and holding his mother's hand, Harry dragged his other hand up and touched his wand to his scar, silently concentrating on the words _Horcrux Funero_. Voldemort's eyes flashed with triumph. Susan screamed, drawing the attention of every living person in the Hallows.

As Harry felt Lily's suddenly-solid hand squeeze his and he closed his eyes against the bright flash of green light, the last thing he saw was ten pairs of eyes staring at him in horror and delight.


	25. Chapter 25: Message in a Bottle

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE –**

**Message in a Bottle**

Voldemort's high-pitched laughter echoed around the chamber, chilling the cold atmosphere further. After a stunned moment, Bellatrix Lestrange's cackle joined him.

'You did it, master; you did it! You are truly the most –'

But before anyone had a chance to find out what Voldemort was truly the most of, Neville pointed his wand across the floor towards where Harry had collapsed, making Gryffindor's sword fly swiftly to his outstretched hand, then he rolled away from Bellatrix to where Slytherin's statue still gripped Voldemort's wand hand. Perhaps Voldemort was too busy luxuriating in the glory of his triumph over Harry to notice more pressing matters … perhaps Slytherin's reaction time was hindered by the fact that he was made of stone … but Neville managed to thrust the sword up towards the gap between Slytherin and Voldemort before anyone could stop him.

Voldemort's hand clutched reflexively at his chest and gripped the sword point poking out from his heart, his eyes filled with shocked surprise. As Bellatrix Lestrange's cry of triumph became a shriek of horror, Lord Voldemort – Tom Marvolo Riddle – slumped back against the statue of his famous ancestor … and died.

'_No!_'

Bellatrix lunged at Neville trapped between Slytherin and her dead master as a low rumbling sound vibrated up from the floor. A moment later, Slytherin's statue exploded in a fireball, sending pieces of hot stone flying in every direction. Fawkes dived down from his circling vigil, his beak stretching wide to swallow the flames before they could burn Neville, disappearing in a puff of ashes in the remains of Slytherin's feet.

The force of the blast knocked Bellatrix off her own feet. She flipped over in midair and landed face down several yards away, a large section of Slytherin's torso landing heavily on top of her, knocking her out.

Neville scrambled out from under Voldemort's body, blinking as dust settled around him. Ron and Hermione rushed over to Harry's body, pale as ghosts. Susan tried to stand but promptly fell back down with a yelp; Hufflepuff's statue had apparently damaged her ankle when it stomped on her foot. Wormtail was writhing on the floor behind Ravenclaw's statue, screaming in agony.

Lupin came over to help Neville to his feet, but he stopped when he noticed Snape staring towards Gryffindor's chair.

'What is it?'

'Dumbledore hasn't moved.'

Lupin frowned, then scraped the toe of his shoe through the ashes in Slytherin's feet. He looked across at Snape, suddenly very worried.

'Fawkes isn't being reborn.'

They exchanged almost panicked looks and rushed up to Dumbledore, Snape making it in five strides.

Professor Dumbledore sat hunch-shouldered in Gryffindor's chair, chin resting on his chest, his silver hair hanging forwards, half covering his face. He looked, for all the world, as though he had just dozed off, but both men knew the moment they reached him that nothing could be done for Hogwarts greatest headmaster.

Lupin reached a shaky hand forwards to brush the hair back but Snape stopped him.

'You see to Potter,' he said quietly, staring unblinking down at his former mentor. Lupin hesitated, then laid his hand on Snape's shoulder a moment before walking slowly down to where Ron was cradling Harry in his arms, rocking back and forth.

'Why did Slytherin's statue blow up?' asked Luna. The statue of Rowena Ravenclaw had glided away from where it had been blocking her and seemed to be deep in conference with both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, enabling Luna to make her way over to where Susan was trying to remove her shoe, blinking back tears of pain as her swollen ankle protested. At Luna's question, Gryffindor turned to face her.

'The dark wizard which hath just perished upon mine blade was the last of Salazar's blood. None other kith nor kin hath he. And through the taint of evil which didst stain his line, our former colleague didst show that he hath no worth to be counted amongst the pillars which have held this establishment aloft for this past millennia. Had he and his kind succeeded in their evil, more than blood wouldst run through these halls; the very pillars themselves wouldst crumble and Hogwarts wouldst be no more.'

All three statues bowed their heads, sorrow etched deeply into their stone faces at the thought that something so mighty had come so close to falling.

'So what happens to the Slytherins?' Susan asked through gritted teeth, gingerly rubbing her ankle.

Snape dragged his attention from Gryffindor, made his way over to her and began to examine the bones for damage as Gryffindor answered, 'Those which hath shared Salazar's desire for darkness shalt now be probed for other qualities and reassigned' (the Sorting Hat gave a little bow) 'to one of the other four houses.'

'Hang on,' said Ron. 'You just said Slytherin doesn't exist anymore.'

'This ist truth.'

'Well, that leaves three houses, not four,' Luna pointed out.

'Three founding houses still stand, but four houses must there be, for four walls must we hold. Thence, we hath concurred that, from this time, the fourth house shall share its qualities with one who has always stood for right, strength and, above all else, good greatness. Had he lived when first we didst dream of this great school, we three,' (both Helga and Rowena bowed their heads) 'wouldst have felt great pride to count the founder of Hogwarts' newest house amongst the founders of Hogwarts.'

As the Sorting Hat smirked at them from atop Gryffindor's head, Wormtail's screams continued their on-again, off-again chorus. Gryffindor glanced down at him, distaste etched on its stone features, and stomped his foot on top of the Marauder, grinding its heel in hard to muffle the sound.

'Can't someone shut him up properly?' asked Ron.

'No,' Lupin said softly as he bent down to pick up Harry's body. When he turned to face them, silent tears trickled down his cheeks, but his voice was quite steady as he explained, 'When Harry stopped Sirius and me killing Peter four years ago, he saved Peter's life, thereby creating a life debt. So if Peter didn't stop Harry being killed, he would, in turn, suffer a thousand deaths himself.'

'Does that mean that Zabini is dying right now, too?'

Lupin and Snape frowned in confusion.

'Yes,' Hermione answered him.

Ron screwed his nose up as he looked down at Wormtail. 'How many has he got to go?'

'Nine hundred and seventy three.' Hermione's voice was so soft, it was barely audible over the sounds of death. Although her eyes were dry, her face was deathly pale. Picking up Harry's Invisibility Cloak, she gave a shudder as she glanced around the Hallows. 'Can we please go now?'

'Yes.' Snape had finished repairing Susan's ankle and was hoisting Dumbledore unceremoniously over his shoulder; Hermione gave a faint hiss and Ron shook his head in disgust. Without further ado, Snape marched across the chamber to the gigantic doors, fishing both the Founders' Key and bodkin from his robes as he went.

Luna helped Susan scramble to her feet. Reaching the door, Susan glanced from the keyhole to Harry, cradled in Lupin's arms.

'Er, Professor?' she asked nervously. 'How are we going to get out?'

'Harry's blood is still warm.' Lupin smiled reassuringly. 'So it should still work all right.' He adjusted Harry's position so Snape could reach the newly-pricked finger to the Gryffindor hole. Susan suppressed a hiss as Snape stabbed her finger with the bodkin, then he drew blood from his own and reached for the hole beside the R. Inserting the tiny key into the lock, he turned it.

The doors remained solid.

Snape rounded on Lupin. 'You said this would work!' he snapped as Dumbledore's body began to slip off his shoulder.

Lupin shook his head, staring at the doors. 'That's what Dumbledore said. He must have gotten it wrong.'

'Thank you for stating the obvious for us,' hissed Snape. 'Now, perhaps you would like to apply your mind to the problem of how we're going to get out of here.'

'You mean we're trapped?' Ron's voice squeaked with panic.

'Quiet, Weasley; I need to think.'

'It's a pity the new Gryffindor heir isn't here,' commented Susan.

'I SAID BE QUIET!'

'Go easy, Severus,' Lupin said quietly. 'They're just as frightened as you are.'

Snape looked like he was going to hit Lupin.

'What Gryffindor heir?' Neville glanced nervously towards Snape.

'Well, Slytherin's statue broke because his line doesn't exist anymore, but Gryffindor is still whole, so he obviously still has other descendants besides Harry. But unfortunately, whoever they are, they're not here,' she sighed, gazing up at the doors again.

Neville glanced from Snape to the doors, and then back at Gryffindor's statue, which nodded its head ever so slightly. Squaring his shoulders, Neville snatched the bodkin from Snape's hand.

'What the –?'

Both Snape and Lupin were staring at Neville, Snape furiously and Lupin with puzzled curiosity.

'My father is still alive. Does that make a difference?'

Lupin and Snape continued to stare. And they weren't the only ones; Ron, Hermione and Susan were also gaping at him.

'I said _does that make a difference_?' Neville glared from Snape to Lupin, the bodkin pressed against his finger.

'Neville?' Hermione ventured nervously as Snape's dark eyes darted to Lupin, who shrugged.

'There's only one way to find out.' Of all the people in the Hallows, Luna seemed to be the only one not surprised by Neville's behaviour.

Taking his cue from her, Neville visibly gritted his teeth and jabbed the point into his finger, allowing a large drop of blood to bubble to the surface. Thrusting it into the hole above the key, he handed the bodkin to Susan. Once her finger was likewise inserted into its hole, they all turned expectantly to Snape.

'Well, go on, Professor,' Luna instructed. 'Open the door.'

Snape's eyes narrowed. 'Lovegood, you still have another year to go at this school; do you want Ravenclaw to start that year so far behind on points, it will take them a decade to catch up?'

'Stop bullying them, Snape, and let's get out of here.' Lupin took a step towards him.

'I can manage on my own,' Snape growled as he shook back the long sleeve of his robes.

All three fingers finally in their respective holes, Snape adjusted Dumbledore's weight on his shoulder then turned the key.

Hermione, Ron and Susan gasped loudly as the door dissolved into nothingness as Luna beamed. Lupin shook his head in quiet amazement, pride glistening in his eyes. Snape stared at Neville almost appraisingly, as if sizing him up.

'Shall we go before the door shuts again?' asked Luna as she pointed her wand at Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat flew into her waiting hand.

That made everybody jerk their attention away from Neville.

'Bones, Longbottom …' Snape's dark eyes bored through Neville again as he stepped across the threshold. 'Hurry up, Weasley.'

Ron's mouth still hung open as he stepped forwards, but he hadn't quite reached Snape when a sound other than Wormtail's faint screams made him turn his head. Bellatrix Lestrange, still trapped under part of Slytherin's torso, had finally regained consciousness. As she raised her head and stared towards the door, pure hatred flashed across her gaunt face. Scrabbling her fingers across the floor, she grabbed her wand.

'Look out!'

Ron dived at Snape, forcing him through the doorway as Hermione screamed and a jet of green light shot across the hall.

Momentarily blinded by the flash, Snape blinked away stars as he tried to wriggle out from under Dumbledore's body and found himself staring at a pair of very shocked, startled eyes.

'_Ron!_' Hermione rushed into the edge of Snape's vision.

'Stay back!' he barked. Reaching up, he pressed his fingers against Ron's neck and then glanced up at Lupin, shaking his head ever so slightly.

'_No._' Hermione tried to lunge at them but Lupin held her back.

As realisation of what they had just witnessed spread through the group, a hollow pall descended upon them. Snape could understand Granger being distraught by Weasley's death, but was surprised that Longbottom and Bones were more affected than they had been when Potter died. The only one who didn't seem to be in shock was Lovegood. Did nothing rattle that girl?

Luna took a step towards the corridor leading back to the school.

'Wait,' Snape grunted as he rolled Ron and Dumbledore from on top of him, enabling himself to finally stand. His dark eyes swept the pale faces before him.

'_You_ –' he held each pair of eyes in turn, '– will wait here. Lupin and I shall assess whether it is safe to proceed further.' (Lupin lowered Harry's body gently to the floor and took Harry's broom from Susan.) '_Touch_ … nothing.'

Hermione had dropped beside Ron but jerked back with a teary sob at Snape's command.

'Why shouldn't you be allowed to touch him?' Neville glared at the darkness which had just swallowed Snape as Susan knelt down beside Hermione and pulled her into a comforting embrace.

'How do you think the rest of them are doing?' wondered Luna to nobody in particular.

They all spent the next few minutes straining their ears for any sound, trying to determine if war still waged above them. Silence echoed around them.

'How long have you know you were descended from Godric Gryffindor?'

'Not now, Luna!' Susan admonished as Neville said, 'My whole life.' He looked back at the others.

'I can't hear anything. Do you think it's because the Death Eaters are all dead, our lot are all dead or we're too far away?'

'This Hallows place only appears when there's danger in the school, right?' asked Luna.

'Yes,' said Susan, still listening to the school above.

'Then the Death Eaters are dead. Or at least, no longer threatening the school.'

Hermione finally looked up from Susan's shoulder. 'How do you figure that one?'

'Because the doors just disappeared.'

'_What?_' All three heads jerked around. Where the two massive doors had stood only minutes before, a dense blackness blossomed in its place, spreading towards them as they gazed in horror.

'MOVE!' Hermione almost threw Susan from her in her haste to regain her feet. Giving her wand a quick flick, she pushed Neville towards the corridor's turn as Harry, Ron and Dumbledore floated upright. '_Quickly!_'

She didn't need to tell them twice; even Luna realised the urgency of the situation. Bumping against each other in panic, they scrambled around the corner and sprinted towards the Great Hall, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the dark nothingness rushing after them like a silent wave.

They had just rounded the last bend when they saw Snape and Lupin coming towards them.

'I told you to –'

'RUN!' all four of them screamed.

Snape's face darkened, then froze mid-scowl as both his and Lupin's eyes widened at the sight bearing down upon them. Lupin reversed stride immediately, waving both students and bodies ahead of him. Snape stepped back to let them pass, reached into his robes and removed a small jar, which he shook several times before throwing down the rapidly-disappearing corridor.

A small tornado suddenly appeared in front of the nothingness, spinning back and forth across the corridor. With a tight smile of satisfaction, Snape ran after the others.

'What did you just do?' Lupin shouted over the sound of the wind.

'Bought us time!' Snape's hair whipped across his face.

Even though they were no longer under immediate threat, they didn't slow down at all, despite sore lungs and aching muscles. It was with enormous relief that they finally burst out into the Great Hall and collapsed in a heap upon the soft folds of the tapestry Harry, Ron and Neville had torn down. For several minutes they just lay there and tried to bring their breathing back to normal as the enormity of everything which had just happened began to sink in.

'_Oh!_'

Neville raised his head. 'What the –?'

Professor Flitwick was standing at the other end of the Great Hall, staring at them in surprise. The tables and benches were pushed back against the walls and the floor was covered with several Death Eaters; most of them were securely gagged and bound from head to toe, hatred-filled eyes blazing in defiance behind their masks, but there were at least three dead ones lying amongst them. Flitwick flicked his wand at yet another Death Eater which was bobbing along behind him so that it stretched itself out beside its accomplices, then he hurried up the Hall towards the returned heroes. He skidded to a halt and stared at the bodies floating in front of the resealed wall.

'Are they –?'

'Yes!' snarled Snape. 'And you nearly got the rest of us killed as well!'

Flitwick jumped with fright, clearly bewildered by this attack. He stood gaping at Snape, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say next. Lupin came to his rescue.

'I take it all of the Death Eaters have been taken care of?'

'Yes,' squeaked Flitwick, turning from Snape. 'All the ones which were here, at any rate. Nymphadora said she saw a couple of Death Eaters chasing after …' He gazed up at Harry again, tears starting to appear in the corners of his eyes. 'What happened? Did Harry manage to …?'

'The Dark Lord is dead, if that is what you are asking,' Snape informed him coldly as he stood. 'As are the two whom were seen following him.'

'But if Harry killed … how …?' Flitwick gaped up at Harry again, clearly at a loss as to how events had unfolded.

'Not now, Filius,' said Lupin quietly. 'We really should get up to the hospital wing.' He nodded towards Hermione, who was starting to shake as shock properly set in.

'Yes, yes, of course.' Flitwick turned his attention to the more immediate matter. 'Poppy will be able to take care of all of you. And Professor McGonagall will want an update.'

As he led them past the Death Eaters, they noticed that the mask of one of the dead ones was hanging half off his face. Hermione gasped.

'That was Dawlish.' She pointed back at him as Snape prodded her in the back and muttered, 'Keep moving.'

'What's wrong?' Lupin looked back and saw that Snape, despite encouraging Hermione to continue up to the hospital wing, was hanging back, gazing closely at each of the Death Eaters.

'You go on ahead; I'll catch you up,' he said distractedly, eyes still searching for some unknown quarry.

Neville looked like he was going to object to Snape remaining in the Great Hall with numerous Death Eaters, unsupervised, but Lupin continued to herd them all towards the Entrance Hall and he was forced to let the matter lie.

Halfway to the hospital wing, they came across Fred huddled up against a wall and cradling a dead George against his chest. His eyes were red and haunted and he didn't try to fight off Lupin as he gently helped him to his feet and led him along with them. He didn't even seem to notice Ron's body.

'About time! I thought you were never going to get here.'

Fred almost dropped George as they entered the hospital wing. Every ghost who haunted the school was assembled before them. It was rather fortunate that they _were_ ghosts because most of them needed to stand shoulder to shoulder through the beds or they wouldn't have all fitted in the ward. Only one bed was left untouched, although Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar and the Grey Lady stood by three of its bedposts. And at the fourth …

'Bring me over here, I've saved this bed especially.' A very transparent George ran his hand through the blankets.

Neville and Susan's jaws dropped and Hermione gave a squeaky sob, but Fred just stood there staring at his ghostly twin. It was only when Madam Pomfrey fought her way through the sea of spectreplasm, gasping at the iciness, and went to take George's body from him, that Fred dragged himself out of his stupor enough to carry his closest brother over to the proffered bed and reverently lay him upon the well-made linen.

'Good man.' George patted his brother's shoulder.

Fred jumped as if he had been zapped. 'That was …' He cautiously reached a hand out and tried to touch George, his fingers sinking into his brother's chest. 'Warm?' He then reached up and rubbed a thumb through George's cheek. 'How can you be warm?'

'That's because his body is still warm,' said Nearly Headless Nick matter-of-factly. 'Won't last, you know.'

Now that George's body was in the same location as his spirit, the other ghosts started to leave, drifting through the walls and ceiling until the only ghosts left in the hospital wing were George and Moaning Myrtle. With the view clear once more, he finally noticed the bodies floating behind Hermione.

'Oh, Mum is going to be so –'

'Please release them, dear.' Madam Pomfrey was gently trying to loosen Hermione's grip on her wand so she could move Dumbledore, Harry and Ron to empty beds, not that there were many left.

'Uncle Albus?'

Everybody stared at Professor Capsworth, stunned by what she had just said. '_Uncle?_'

She didn't say anything more, though. She just sat on the end of a bed halfway down the ward, several cuts on her head and one arm was in a sling, staring at Dumbledore's body. Nor was she the only casualty of the battle. Dedalus Diggle and Professor Vector had sustained serious injuries, though not so serious that their treatment was beyond Madam Pomfrey, and were convalescing at the far end of the ward, nearest to the office. Two of the beds had sheets drawn right up over the pillows so that the identities of the bodies lying beneath them were concealed. Professor McGonagall was sitting in a rocking chair beside Professor Vector's bed, numerous cuts and small bandages dotted over her frame. She stood and came towards them as Luna asked, 'Who else died?'

'Not now, Miss –'

'Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Sprout,' George answered her.

'What?' Neville's legs gave way and he collapsed onto the nearest bed. He stared dazedly at the two covered beds, easily determining which bore his former Herbology teacher by the shape, but seemed reluctant to approach her at all.

'Here, Poppy; I'll do it.' McGonagall had joined Madam Pomfrey and Hermione. She gave her own wand a sharp jab and Harry, Ron and Dumbledore's bodies finally floated to their designated beds as Snape entered through the doors behind her.

'What was that all about downstairs?' Lupin wanted to know.

'Confirming a suspicion. I found out how Weasley died.'

'Yeah, that lumpy woman with the weird cackle got me.' George glared across from his body's bedside. 'What's it to you?'

Snape froze as he spotted the school's new House ghost. His eyes darted to Lupin, who nodded, then back to George, taking in the body lying on the bed beside him.

'I meant your younger brother,' Snape clarified. Lupin frowned in puzzlement that Snape would need to examine Death Eaters who hadn't even been in the Hallows when he had seen, with his own eyes, exactly how Ron had died. 'It seems Potter's prediction of double runs of luck was true. Dawlish, Blackthorn and Rodolphus Lestrange all have traces of Felix Felicis about them. With the extra doses added to the equation, I'm surprised we came through this as unscathed as we have.' His dark eyes roved over the many full beds, coming to rest on Dumbledore.

'Unscathed?' McGonagall stared at Snape in shock. 'You call this _unscathed_?' She waved her in a wide arc, indicating all of the injuries and fatalities.

'Yes.' Snape frowned at her. 'Without that potion, all the good luck would have run in favour of the Dark side, and these beds would contain far more bodies, believe me.'

McGonagall took a step back as Snape advanced, clearly unwilling to confront the image Snape's description conjured: a Hogwarts where all of the Order of the Phoenix were dead, and Voldemort and his Death Eaters ruled supreme. Her face was still quite pale when the doors swung open yet again as Tonks, Moody, Bill and Ginny entered the hospital wing.

Tonks immediately went over to her husband, where they began checking and quietly assuring each other that they had survived in one piece. Bill and Ginny stopped stock still as they spotted George and Ron. Moody gave an angry growl and pushed past Bill and Ginny, stumping awkwardly towards Snape, but Neville jumped up before him.

'Out of my way!' Moody didn't take either eye off Snape.

'I don't need you to protect me, Longbottom.' Snape's voice, though quiet, held a dangerous undertone, like a tightly wound spring.

'Leave him be, Moody.' Lupin walked around them and stood behind Neville's shoulder. 'He's on our side.'

'The hell he's on our side! He's been doing You-Know-Who's bidding for over a year, if he ever stopped.'

'V-v-voldemort is dead.'

Everybody stared at Neville, their faces turning white, though not as quickly as Neville's; even Lupin was momentarily stunned that he had managed to say Voldemort's name.

McGonagall looked from Neville to Lupin and Snape. 'So you succeeded.' She got several nods in reply. 'But … how did Potter …?'

'Voldemort killed Harry.' Lupin glanced over at Harry's body. 'Or, rather, Harry let Voldemort kill him. He realised it was the only way to weaken Voldemort enough that he _could _be killed. Neville was the one who then finished the job.'

They all blinked stupidly at Neville as Lupin patted him on the back.

'And Ron?' Bill slowly walked over to stand beside his youngest brother.

'Bellatrix Lestrange took a shot at Professor Snape as we were leaving and Ron –' Susan broke off as Hermione gave a loud sniff. Fred glanced at George a second, then walked over to Hermione and pulled her into his arms.

'Arthur Weasley's kid died saving _that_?' Moody dived at Snape but suddenly found himself face to face with Neville, Susan and the ghostly George.

'What do you lot think you're doing?'

'Standing together,' said Susan.

'What else would you expect the Houses to do?' asked Luna.

'Huh?'

'I'm descended from Helga Hufflepuff,' said Susan.

'Godric Gryffindor.'

'Ravenclaw.' Snape's thin lips barely moved.

Moody made a sound deep down in his throat. 'That was just some rubbish the _Prophet _cooked up. You're not –'

'Actually, yes, he is, Alastor.' McGonagall went and stood beside Susan. 'And as Headmistress of this school, I am afraid I cannot have you endangering the heirs.'

Moody glared defiantly for several seconds then, realising he wasn't going to get anywhere with that line, changed tact.

'And what's with you?' The electric blue eye swiveled to aim at George. 'I wouldn't have picked you as one who would be afraid of death!'

'I'm not.' George's body may have still been warm but his voice was icy cold. 'But I also didn't want to leave Fred all alone.'

'He's one of seven, he's hardly a –'

'You're not a twin; you wouldn't understand. Then there was the job.'

'– lone … What? What job?'

'Well, this place needs four house ghosts but Slytherin doesn't exist any more, so the Bloody Baron's out of a job, creating a vacancy. Not forever, of course, just temporarily, until a member of the new house dies and can take over. Fred and I will be together again, one day.' George winked at his double.

Moody gazed from George to Neville, then Susan and, finally, Snape as silence stretched between them. 'You said Lestrange tried to kill you.'

Snape's head moved fractionally.

'What happened to her?'

Neville and Susan suddenly looked nervous.

'She's no longer a problem,' Lupin volunteered. 'And that's all we can tell you. Even though there are no bodies as proof, trust me when I say that Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew have been dealt with. Permanently.' The steely tone made it clear that the matter was not open for discussion.

Suddenly, the hospital doors burst open with a bang. Everyone jumped at the loudness of the sound. Turning, they saw Fudge marching up the centre of the ward, at least half a dozen serious-looking people bustling along behind him.

McGonagall stepped forwards, blocking his path.

'May I help you with something, Minister?'

Fudge's gaze ran over her, taking in the cuts and bandages. An indulgent grin spread across his face.

'The Ministry received a report that several illegal acts were being performed here.'

McGonagall looked momentarily stunned. '_Illegal acts_? And just which illegal acts might these be?' She was fast recovering her usual strength. 'Death Eaters murdering innocent people, or You-Know-Who trying to destroy this school?'

Fudge looked like someone had hit a Bludger at his face at close range. 'You-Know-Who? Here? He _can't_ have been here. How would he have gotten past the security?'

McGonagall was turning red like a kettle which was about to boil. 'You mean the security which packed up and went home as soon as the students had boarded the Hogwarts Express? The security which has been spying on Harry Potter's movements for the Ministry? Or did you only mean the two security members who turned out to be Death Eaters?'

'What?'

'If you check the Great Hall, you will find amongst the bodies both Horatio Plaxton and Connard Dawlish. Close inspection of their left arms will reveal that they have both been branded with the Dark Mark – the sign of a Death Eater.'

Fudge stared at McGonagall, his mouth hanging open. 'Who killed –?'

'One of the other Death Eaters hit Plaxton by mistake – he had actually been aiming at Kingsley Shacklebolt.' McGonagall hesitated, reluctant to continue.

'_I_ killed Dawlish,' a cold voice spoke from the far end of the ward. 'He had just killed Shacklebolt and was about to kill Professor McGonagall.'

Fudge's jaw dropped lower as he gaped at Snape.

'_You?'_ He gazed, stunned, from Snape to McGonagall and back again, three times, his mouth becoming slacker by the minute. With a visible effort, he straightened up and pulled himself together.

'I don't know what sort of school you think you've been running here,' he addressed McGonagall, 'but the nonsense stops now.' He pulled a small scroll of parchment and a quill from his cloak, as well as his wand which he jabbed almost absentmindedly in Snape's direction. McGonagall made a grab at Fudge's wand as Snape flicked his own, deflecting Fudge's spell.

As one, the men who had arrived with the Minister began casting spells at Snape. He succeeded in deflecting four of them, but the other two hit their mark. With a thud, Snape toppled to the floor, bound tightly from head to toe with thick ropes, his wand pressed uselessly against his side.

Lupin made a sudden movement, but pulled up as the six wands shifted to point menacingly at him while Fudge scribbled something on the scroll before making it vanish with his wand.

McGonagall backed away from the wall of wands. 'Who did you just summon?'

'A couple of Dementors,' said Fudge offhandedly. 'I noticed some on my way in.'

'And you really think they'll follow your orders?' Lupin was also eyeing the Ministry staff. 'They've been devoted to Voldemort –' (shudders rippled through the ward) '– for two and a half years now.'

'What do you need _two_ Dementors for?' George hovered through the end of Dumbledore's bed.

'One for that Death Eater, one for the were –'

Fudge looked across from Lupin and broke off when he realised exactly who had asked the question. 'What –?' His face lost its pompousness faster than a candle being snuffed as he first stared at George, then through him to Dumbledore's body stretched out on the bed behind him.

'How?' Fudge gazed around at his cohorts as if wanting one of them to explain what was going on, but they were too busy exchanging uncertain glances and pointing their wands shakily towards the new threat to notice. Still at a loss, he gazed back at McGonagall.

'How did Snape get Dumbledore's body out of his tomb?'

McGonagall's brows rose so high, they almost disappeared into her hairline. 'Professor Snape didn't remove Albus's body; _Albus_ did that.'

Fudge looked even more lost. 'When?'

'During his funeral.' McGonagall's lips were pressed thinly together.

'But … _how_? He's been dead for a year –'

'He has only just died, Minister, I assure you!' Madam Pomfrey leant against the railing at the end of Harry's bed for support. 'You can come and feel him, if you like; he's still warm.'

Fudge turned towards her and checked mid-movement as he finally noticed Harry.

'Is he –?'

'Dead?' Lupin quietly completed the question. 'Yes.' He looked as though he was ageing before their eyes.

'How?'

'V-voldemort killed him,' Neville drew Fudge's attention his way.

'But … he was the Chosen One … he was supposed to destroy …'

'Neville is the one who killed Voldemort,' Lupin explained.

It took Fudge a moment to blink. 'He … what … Nev … but … he can't … he's not …'

Every person who had been in the Hallows was glaring angrily at Fudge.

'Did you just say He Who Must Not Be Named is dead?' One of the Ministry officials gaped at Lupin, his wand hanging limply by his side.

'Yes.'

'Not just diminished, like before?' asked another. 'He's properly dead?'

Lupin nodded again.

'How?' Several of them spoke together as they began exchanging glances, hope overcoming their uncertainty.

'Yes, I think we'd all like to know the details.'

'Why, so you can get your facts straight when you claim the credit for yourself?' George leant against a bed and fell backwards through it. 'This is going to take some getting used to,' he grunted as his head popped up through the mattress; Myrtle giggled over in the corner as the ward doors opened again.

Fudge turned, his expression suggesting he clearly thought it was the requested Dementors; he deflated again when he saw three goblins approaching, one of whom was looking very official and important, the other two carrying …

'How did you get Harry's Pensieve?' Hermione spoke for the first time since they had reached the sanctuary of the hospital wing.

The two goblins raised the Pensieve onto one of the few empty beds as Fudge continued to gape at them, totally at a loss for words. The head goblin removed two sealed phials from a pocket and approached Hermione, who shrank back against Fred. She glanced uncertainly at McGonagall, who looked as lost as her.

'It's all right, Hermione,' Lupin's quiet voice broke the silence. 'It's yours. The goblins are never wrong about what property belongs to whom.'

Still looking unsure, Hermione reluctantly accepted the phial the goblin was offering to her.

Relieved of its first burden, the goblin then turned his attention to Snape.

'What could Potter possibly wish to say to me?' Snape eyed the phial with suspicion. 'Are you certain it is not meant for …' he cast around for a more likely candidate, '… Lupin, perhaps?'

'We were given strict instructions that this memory was to be delivered to a Professor Severus Snape in the event of the holder's death. You are Professor Severus Snape, are you not?' The goblin's eyes roamed over Snape with a penetrating look. 'Or have you falsified the records you hold at Gringotts bank?'

Snape's eyes pierced the goblin with a withering glare as he snatched the phial from him and broke the seal, impatiently emptying it into the Pensieve.

After a quick swill of the contents, they rose to form the shape of an old man with extremely long white hair and beard. Peering over the top of a pair of half-moon spectacles as he span slowly, Albus Dumbledore's quiet voice filled the suddenly silent ward.

'Good day, Severus.' The moustache twitched ever so slightly. 'I promise I shall not take up too much of your time, but there are a few things which need to be said before you begin to get on with the rest of your life.

'Firstly, do not mourn for me. I have lived a very eventful and, for the most part, happy life and would not wish for one day more. It is high time the space I occupied was vacated that others may have a little extra air to breathe.

'As I told Minerva, it is my wish to be buried at Hogwarts; that way I can continue to watch over the students of this fine establishment. My tomb has been laying in wait for a year now and it is time it was filled. I only ask that my interment this time be a quiet, private matter attended by immediate friends … and no one else. I certainly do not wish it to turn into the circus which my first burial inspired.

'And now I come to the most important thing which I have to say to you.

'You are possibly the most gifted potions brewer ever to walk through Hogwarts' doors. You have a natural understanding of the underlying science of your chosen craft and it is my wish that you put your talents to good use.

'I have instructed Gringotts bank to transfer _all_ of my remaining estate to your good self to enable you to engage in study and research to discover and effect a permanent cure for lycanthropy. You may believe that Remus Lupin is not worthy of your assistance, but he did not ask Fenrir Greyback to infect him with this curse and, whatever your feelings towards him, you have offered Remus assistance previously and shall do so again, no matter how grudgingly. Of all the Potions experts on this planet, I feel the one with sufficient knowledge, intuition, instinct and imagination to reverse this affliction is you, Severus, whether you like to admit it to yourself or not.

'No one knows better than you just how much harm has been done by the evil spread by Tom Riddle and his associates and there is much to be repaired. Curing lycanthropy is only the start of the good which you have it in yourself to do. With luck, and a little faith in yourself, you may even be able to restore the Longbottoms to full health. Only time will tell. The rest is up to you, but I do not doubt you for a second.

'That is my legacy to you: use your talents to help those less fortunate to improve their lives, but also do not forget to live yourself. And do not allow Rowena Ravenclaw's line to die with you.

'Although there have been times when my disappointment in your choices has been quite bitter, for the most part I have enjoyed knowing you and shall always treasure our friendship. Live a long, happy, fruitful life.

'Until we meet again, my friend. Good bye and good luck.'

With a last twitch of the white moustache and twinkle from those pale blue eyes, Dumbledore's image spun slowly and sank back into the swirling depths from which it had risen.

The only sound as Dumbledore melted back into the surface of the Pensieve was a quiet sniff from Hermione. She looked at the bottle the goblin had given to her, confused. 'What would Dumbledore want to say to me?'

'What makes you think it's from Dumbledore?' asked Lupin quietly.

Hermione sniffed louder. Suddenly she didn't want to open that bottle. If it was a farewell from Harry, she didn't think she could face it; it would somehow make what just happened in the Hallows that much more real.

Impatiently, Snape snatched the bottle from her and pulled the stopper, but got no further because Lupin had covered Snape's hand with his own.

'If you don't mind,' he said with a sigh. 'I was friend to both his father and godfather – I'll do it.' And with a sad look on his face, he slowly emptied the bottle into the Pensieve and began swilling the contents. Up out of the basin rose a young man with dark, unkempt hair and glasses. Spinning slowly, Harry Potter began to speak.

'Hi Ron, Hermione.' He nodded greetings, a sad smile on his face. 'If you are witnessing this, then it means that I'm dead.'

Hermione gave another sob. Fred hugged her tighter.

Harry continued. 'I've made this memory because I have a few instructions for you, and I think you will do a better job following them now that you know I'm dead than if I had given them to you _just in case_. I promise I won't take too long, then Hermione, you can stop holding your breath and get on with crying properly, and you, Ron, can finally punch something – preferably Malfoy.

'Firstly, don't mourn me for too long. You haven't really known me for very long – less than half your lives – and if you live to be seventy, then seven years isn't very long at all.

'Secondly, I'd like to be buried with my parents. McGonagall probably wants to bury me at Hogwarts as some kind of emblem or something, but I'm not Dumbledore, I didn't give my life to Hogwarts, and I didn't die defending the school. I died doing what I was born to do.

'Thirdly, my will is in my parents' vault at Gringotts. It lists what I want done with all of my possessions, and because I am legally a man, the Ministry can't seize them. It is a fairly unwieldy document with special charms upon it to make sure that it is followed to the letter; but I feel I should explain _why_ I have done certain things.

'Ron: you and Professor Lupin are to share my gold. Ron, since you have your whole life ahead of you so you have time to earn more, you can have my parents' gold, and Professor Lupin can have the gold Sirius left to me seeing as he has less time to save for his retirement. Both of you are hard-working and worthy of great rewards and should be a lot richer than you are but, because of the prejudices of those less worthy than you, you have both been forced to endure hardships neither of you deserve. This is a long overdue boost and my chance to thank you for your friendship and support.

'I hope, Ron and Hermione, that you don't mind that I'm not leaving Sirius's house to you. It is to be sold – you might get a decent offer out of Fred and George – and the money given to Professor Snape to fund his research to find a cure for lycanthropy, and also to restore Mr and Mrs Longbottom to full health. Some good should come out of the actions of Sirius's family.' Snape and Lupin exchanged surprised glances.

'Professor Lupin can have those Defence Against the Dark Arts books he and Sirius gave me; I think he'll be needing them. The job should be safe now that Voldemort is definitely gone. And tell McGonagall that if Professor Trelawney was correct and Hogwarts needs a new Herbology teacher, I can think of the perfect man for that job too – but, of course, these are only suggestions. I'm not headmaster and never will be.'

He sighed. 'Do I have any regrets dying before I even turned eighteen? Yeah, a few.' He shrugged.

'I regret that I won't get to become an Auror and hunt down the rest of Voldemort's Death Eaters; I'm kind of sorry I won't get to find out how I went with my NEWTs, though I'm pretty sure I managed an O for Defence at least. I also regret that I didn't live long enough to see Neville continue the Gryffindor line.' (Hermione gasped.)

'But my biggest regret is that I won't get to be best man at your wedding, or godfather to your children. Tell them about me, even show them my memories of the three of us (I've left you several bottles), but most of all,' he grinned cheekily, 'name your first son after me.

'I've enjoyed the adventures we've had together, and shall always treasure our friendship. Live long, happy, fruitful lives until we meet again, and remember: I didn't live a short life; I lived a long life, six years longer than I should have, because of two extraordinary, loving people named Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.'

And with a wink and a final smile, Harry's memory sank back into the Pensieve like Dumbledore before him.


	26. Chapter 26: Full Circle

Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– **CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX –**

**Full Circle**

'Firs' years this way,' a loud voice bellowed.

Harry squinted through the steam along the platform and felt his jaw drop as he made out the gigantic shape of a man swinging a lantern. His dad had told him about Rubeus Hagrid, but he never quite believed him; he did run a joke shop, after all. As he came to a shocked standstill, someone bumped into the back of him.

'Come on Harry, what did you stop for? We're being called – _Whoa!_' James stared, stunned, at Hagrid.

Harry glanced around and spotted the round face and red hair of his cousin, who had also stopped to stare wide-eyed at the gamekeeper.

Harry, James and Godric exchanged excited looks. _This was going to be so much fun._

They scurried after the other first years, as Hagrid led them down a steep, narrow path to the edge of a great black lake; on the far side a large castle balanced on to of a high mountain. In front of them, a fleet of small boats were lined up before the shore, small waves lapping against their sides.

'No more'n four to a boat!' Hagrid called as he settled himself into one of the boats, leaving no room for anyone else.

By the time Harry, James and Godric reached the water's edge, all but two of the boats had been filled. As Godric shrugged and climbed into a boat with a small, dark boy and two girls, Harry and James got into the other, looking curiously at the two thin boys already perched on its seats.

One of them had sad green eyes and a long neck, which he craned around, trying to see everything at once. The other had slightly mean-looking eyes and white-blond pudding-basin hair, and was eyeing Harry and James sourly.

As the boats set off across the lake on Hagrid's command, the first boy looked around long enough to say, 'Hi, I'm Derek Dursley and this is Mordy Malfoy. Isn't all this something else?'

Harry sat up straighter. _Dursley and Malfoy?_ He definitely knew those two names.

Dursley straightened around in his seat. 'Did you two know you were wizards?'

Harry and James exchanged bemused glances. 'Well, yeah.'

'I didn't know,' Dursley continued sadly. 'We're from Muggle families,' (he pointed at Malfoy), 'we live near each other. My dad did everything he could to stop me knowing – he burnt all my Hogwarts letters and beat me like crazy whenever I did anything –' his voice dropped to a whisper, '– _freakish_. He disowned me the day Mrs Figg took me to Diagon Alley; won't have me back home. I don't know what I'm going to do now.' He sighed morosely.

Malfoy was eyeing Dursley as if he was a piece of green slime. 'Speak for yourself, Derek,' he sneered. 'I come from a long line of some of the finest wizards –'

'_Rubbish, Malfoy!'_ Harry had both hands on his hips. 'Your mum is dead, your dad's in Azkaban, and you were sent to live with a Squib when you were six!'

Malfoy's face flushed.

'What's a Squib?' Derek wanted to know.

'A non-magic person born into a wizarding family; the opposite of what you are,' James explained, not taking his eyes off Harry or Malfoy.

'How would you know anything about me?' Malfoy glanced at Harry.

'My Auntie Ginny told me; she's the one who put _your_ dad back in prison. How long had he been out for? Three weeks, wasn't it? Really learnt his lesson, didn't he. And then my granddad put _you_ with that Squib when your mum blew herself up.'

Derek's eyes grew large. _'Blew herself up?'_

'Yeah. She was a really dumb witch – did lousy at school – but she kept trying to show off, pretending she was clever, and one day she went too far.'

'You take that back!' hissed Malfoy, fixing Harry with a dangerous glare.

'Oh, like I'm really scared of _you!_' The last word squeaked through the air as Malfoy lunged at Harry, overbalancing the boat, and all four of them fell into the icy-cold water.

Harry struggled to the surface and grabbed onto the upturned boat. He saw all the students staring in their direction; several knelt up to get a better look. Hagrid was standing in his boat, balanced perfectly as it turned towards them.

Looking around wildly, Harry saw both James and Derek break the surface and reach out to hold onto the boat, but there was no sign of Malfoy. Heart pumping with panic, he squinted across the dark water until he saw it – a small cluster of bubbles popping a few yards away. Swimming over to the spot, ignoring Hagrid's shout of 'Oy, you!', Harry took a deep breath and dived into the black depths.

Straining his eyes, he caught a faint glimpse of something pale floating like weeds. _Malfoy's hair._ Harry kicked deeper; but when he reached Malfoy, he found that a sickly-green creature with sharp horns was gripping his ankle with long spindly fingers and dragging Malfoy deeper. _A Grindylow_. Harry had seen one at James's house; his dad had shown it to them.

Reaching down, he grabbed Malfoy's leg to hold himself steady then, grasping each of the Grindylow's fingers in turn, he snapped them until he felt the bones crumple like brittle twigs. As the Grindylow scuttled off with a green-toothed grimace, Harry grabbed Malfoy around the chest and kicked for the surface.

They were about halfway up (Harry's vision was starting to blur from lack of air), when something large and strong smoothly reached around the pair of them and pulled them against itself. Harry thought it was Hagrid rescuing them, then he was staring into the largest eye he had ever seen.

Two very large bubbles rushed towards the surface as both boys let out silent yells, wasting their remaining oxygen; then they were being pushed back into the now-righted boat to land beside Derek, whose teeth were chattering noisily, and James, who was hanging over the side of the boat, trying to get a better look at the tentacle as it slid back beneath the surface.

'_What was that?'_ he asked in amazement as the boat drifted under a curtain of ivy in the cliff face, through a dark tunnel and finally bumped up to a small underground harbour. All the other first years were gathered together in a crowd (several girls were crying), being overseen by a tall wizard with dark robes and curtains of greasy black hair, liberally streaked with grey, framing his sallow, hook-nosed face.

As Hagrid stepped out of his own boat, Godric rushed forwards, a look of sheer relief on his face as he rubbed the ancient talisman their Egyptian cousins had sent him.

'We thought you'd all drowned!' he exclaimed, as the hook-nosed man shrugged out of his cloak and handed it to Malfoy, sheer loathing darkening his features as his eyes fell on Harry.

When Malfoy promptly passed the dry cloak to Harry, the teacher's expression froze.

'It's all righ', Professor Snape,' Hagrid explained. ''Magine he's just grateful, that's all. After all, Harry here jus' saved young Mr Malfoy's life.' He beamed down at Harry. 'But it's much too cold to go inter details out here; let's ge' the little tykes inside. After yeh Professor.' And he held his arms wide, herding everyone, including a sour-faced Professor Snape, up a passageway in the rock, across smooth, damp grass, and up a flight of stone steps to the castle's huge, oak front doors.

Once inside (everyone's jaws dropped at the sight of the Entrance Hall), Professor Snape showed them into a small, empty chamber opposite another pair of doors, behind which could be heard the drone of hundreds of voices.

After Snape closed the door on them with a command of 'Wait here', Harry, James and Derek huddled close together so they could wrap the warm cloak around them. Harry held out a corner and looked expectantly at Malfoy who, with a muttered, 'Thanks – for everything,' allowed himself to be pulled into the cloak's embrace.

All the first years were looking at them curiously.

'So what exactly _did_ happen?' Godric wanted to know, eyeing Malfoy warily.

'Oh, I was being stupid,' Harry quickly replied (James's jaw started to drop but Harry stomped on his foot). 'I thought I saw something moving in the water and tried to get a better look and tipped the boat over.'

'And Hagrid rescued you?'

'He rescued us,' James pointed to Derek and himself, 'but _they_ were pushed back into the boat by this really long arm.'

'That would be the giant squid,' a voice behind them commented.

Several first years screamed as a number of ghosts emerged through the back wall.

'Hi, Uncle George.' Harry grinned up at the ghost who had addressed them.

Jaws dropped around him. _'Uncle George?'_

The ghost performed an elaborate bow. 'Only to these three.' He waved a transparent hand at Harry, James and Godric. '_You_ may call me Joking George. And this –' he began indicating the other ghosts who were all eyeing the first years with interest, '– is the Fat Friar,' (a jolly monk beamed at them), 'Nearly Headless Nick,' (a ghost whose head was wobbling precariously on top of his ruff sputtered 'I would prefer –')

'Introductions will have to wait until later, Weasley,' Professor Snape's cold voice (and gaze) were back. 'The Sorting is about to take place.'

Joking George responded by drifting straight through Snape, making the professor gasp loudly, as though he had been plunged into ice, and throw George a look which, had he not been dead already, would have killed him.

'This way!' Snape's lips barely moved as he held the door open for them. They followed him across the Entrance Hall, through the large doors, and into a magnificent banquet hall. Along its length stretched four tables seating the rest of the students; above them it looked as though the ceiling opened onto the night sky.

Snape led them between the tables to the far end of the hall where a fifth table seated the teachers. Two of the teachers – one with a round face and dark hair and the other with numerous pale scars stretching across his face – waved at Harry, James and Godric, who waved back.

'Do you know them?' asked Derek.

The boys nodded.

'The younger one is my dad – teaches Herbology,' whispered Godric.

'And the grey-haired one is _my_ father,' added James.

All the first years were now goggling at them.

'Your uncle's a ghost and your dads are teachers? Wow!' exclaimed the dark boy who had shared Godric's boat.

'What does your dad teach?' Derek asked James.

'Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'Is that how he got those scars?' A blonde girl was standing on tiptoe to get a better look.

'No, he used to be a werewolf,' James replied indifferently; but before any of the students could react to this news, Professor Snape had placed a worn, patched hat upon a three-legged stool in front of them.

The muttering throughout the hall died down and everyone stared at the hat expectantly. After a moment, a small rip near its brim opened, and the hat began to sing.

_Oh, t'was a time, when days were dark,_

_And those of magic yen_

_Were persecuted, one and all_

_By superstitious men._

_So formed a group of four great friends_

_Whose powers were the best_

_Who knew just how to help their kind_

_And hide them from the rest.'_

_And so it was that it began,_

_A school of great renown,_

_And within Hogwarts' mighty walls_

_From that day could be found_

_Four Houses which all stood as one,_

_Though they valued different gifts,_

_And together they did teach their young_

_Until there grew a rift,_

_For one of them begrudged the fact_

_Not all of them were pure,_

_And so a dark disease did spread_

_For which there was no cure._

_For Slytherin did plant in me_

_A need to separate_

_Those of purest blood and thus_

_Encourage them to hate_

_All those whose families had not_

_Descended from the start;_

_And from that day, with Snakey's help,_

_All four groups stood apart._

_But then there came such evil,_

_It seemed our world would lose the fight,_

_For none could vanquish You-Know-Who_

_Until there shone a light._

_For one was born whose fate it was_

_To rid us of this rotter_

_The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One,_

_The wizard Harry Potter._

_For Potter did possess a gift_

_Which, of all stood above,_

_And You-Know-Who could not fight off_

_This greatest gift called Love._

_So when, at last, they came to blows_

_In Hogwarts' greatest hall,_

_The founders' love and strength destroyed_

_This foe once and for all._

_Old Slytherin did crumble_

_For his line had now died out,_

_Then Gryffindor stepped forward_

_And gave a mighty shout._

'_For nigh on a millennium_

_Four pillars held this school,_

_And thus it shall continue_

_Though with a change of rule._

_Whilst once the founders numbered four,_

_We now are down to three,_

_For one did show, through his own blood,_

_No founding worth hath he._

_And so with the consensus_

_Of my fellow founders, fair,_

_We stand as one once more_

_And henceforth, deem from this day there_

_Shall be a new House made at Hogwarts_

_Which shall never fall,_

_For those valued by this House shall hold_

_Good Greatness above all._

_So here at Hogwarts school_

_Which has since that day stood so strong,_

_Just place me on your head_

_That I may see where you belong._

_It could be that your values mirror_

_Brave old Gryffindor,_

_Hardworking, loyal Hufflepuff,_

_Or brainy Ravenclaw,_

_Or your head may show that you'll do best_

_In Hogwarts, newest House_

_For, unlike once-were Slytherins,_

_You'll never be a louse._

_So put me on, don't be afraid,_

_I'll see the worth within,_

_Though split, you'll stand together:_

_Let the Sorting now begin._

Loud applause filled the Great Hall as the hat fell silent once more, although the tear retained something of a smirk about it.

Professor Snape sneered down at the first years as he unrolled a length of parchment.

'I shall call each of you, in turn, to come forwards, sit on the stool, and place the Sorting Hat upon your head. Once you have been Sorted into your House, you will join your fellow housemates at your house table _quietly_ and with decorum.'

A white-haired witch sitting at the centre of the teachers' table rolled her eyes as several snickers broke out across the hall. Snape glared at the students with a very black look.

He waited until silence rang through the Hall. 'Whilst you are here at this school, you will represent your house, hence any rule-breaking will _lose_ your house points, whilst any exceptional feats shall see points _awarded_ to whichever house you are chosen for. At the completion of the school year, the House with the most points shall be awarded the House Cup. Do you understand?'

A few of the first years managed very small, frightened nods, while most of them just stared up at him wide-eyed, their mouths slightly open with fear.

Snape's dark eyes glittered. Straightening the parchment, he called, 'Aberversy, Polly!'

The blonde girl who had asked abut James's father's scars gave a start, and hurried forwards to place the Hat on her head. Three seconds later, the Hat shouted, _'Hufflepuff!'_ and Polly Aberversy ran to the table on the right, whose students were cheering loudly.

As 'Brocklehurst, Belinda!' stepped forwards to take her turn, James whispered to Derek, 'Did your father really beat you?'

'Mmm,' Derek nodded, closely watching the Sorting. 'But it never hurt though, not physically anyway.'

James blinked. 'Why not?'

'Because my mum put a charm on him years ago to stop him being a gross nasty bully,' Harry cut in.

'_Your_ mum cursed him and made him hate magic?' Derek's expression started to darken.

'Your grandparents taught him to hate magic, and Mum didn't curse him,' Harry's hands were on his hips again, 'she did him a favour. Have you seen photographs of him when he was younger?' Derek nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed. 'Well, if it hadn't been for Mum, he would have been dead of a heart attack at twenty, and _you_ wouldn't exist for him to disown!'

Derek's green eyes blinked rapidly, but he was unable to reply because Snape called 'Dursley, Derek!'

The Sorting Hat sat on Derek's head for over a minute before it made up its mind (_Hufflepuff!_). Derek looked decidedly relieved as he trotted off to the Hufflepuff table.

Harry was surprised. From everything he had heard about the Dursley males, he wouldn't have thought Derek would have been the right sort of material for Hufflepuff; but then again, knowing the Dursleys' attitude to anything remotely non-Muggle, Derek's father probably treated his son as much like a slave as his grandparents had treated their nephew. So Derek would be quite at home with a bit of hard work.

He was snapped out of his reverie by Godric's voice.

'What's gonna happen if we don't get put in the same house?'

'What do you mean, "What's gonna happen"?' asked Harry, as Andrew Kensington took a seat at the Ravenclaw table. 'We'll still be best mates.'

'Yeah,' said James as Snape's lip curled (Longbottom, Godric!). 'You heard the Hat – "though split, you'll stand together",' he whispered loudly after Godric as he took his turn on the stool.

'_Gryffindor!'_ shouted the Hat immediately.

James glanced at Harry as he unwound himself from Snape's cloak. 'Still mates?' he whispered.

'Still mates,' Harry whispered back as Snape called 'Lupin, James!'

Harry held his breath.

'_Ravenclaw!'_

As James sat down next to his older brother, Sirius, at the Ravenclaw table (grinning at his father), Harry felt a hand take hold of his and squeeze. He looked up into Malfoy's pale, frightened eyes.

Harry squeezed the hand back. 'Good luck!' he whispered as Snape called, 'Malfoy, Mordred!'

Quite suddenly, Harry's eyes watered as he tried to suppress a sneeze, but in vain. Just as the Hat called out the name of Malfoy's house, Harry gave three loud sneezes, earning a severe glare from Snape as he wiped his nose on the cloak.

As Malfoy ran over to the fourth table, Harry realised it wouldn't really matter which house he was put in – he would have a friend in the same house. Malfoy's attitude had changed drastically after Harry had rescued him from the Grindylow (he doubted whether Malfoy's father would have looked on him as a friend); and Dursley – he seemed to have been raised to believe that magic was evil, but rather than changing him, all his father had done was show him how mean and uncaring he could be towards his own son. Harry felt sure that, once Derek settled in, he would enjoy being part of the wizarding world. Especially if he had friends to help him! He would have to talk to James and Godric about it.

Starting to feel very cold and hungry, Harry tried not to fidget as the Hat worked its way through 'Opresey', 'Pendrake', 'Tansy' and 'Walcott'.

Finally, Snape's sneering voice said, 'Weasley, Harry!' and Harry dropped Snape's cloak in the small puddle at his feet and stepped determinedly to take his place on the stool. Snape placed the Sorting Hat on his head, but it slipped down until it covered his eyes. A small voice suddenly spoke right next to his ear.

'Oh.' It sounded intrigued. 'I was wondering when I would get to meet you; I've heard a lot about you. Mmm, yes; I see what they mean – you come from _very_ good wizarding stock; quite a good bit of talent, very fine mind, and not afraid to stand up for what is right! Yes, indeed! It wouldn't have been right to leave him to a dark fate, would it?'

Harry's heart jumped. 'You know about that?' he whispered.

'Yes,' the Hat whispered back, with a small chuckle. 'It's all here in your head. I can see you being great one day, if you keep treading the path you've started upon. Yes, there is a lot of good greatness in you, young man. Just like –

'_Potter!_' The last word was shouted to the assembly.

Harry made his way over to the Potter table (waving at Uncle Neville and Remus, and grinning at his father's twin hanging upside down above the other Potter students), and sat down next to Mordy. As he gazed across at the other tables and made eye contact with James, Godric and Derek, Harry gave a contented sigh and realised he was right where he belonged.

_x_

Henrietta Dursley suppressed a shudder as she threw the last of Derek's things into the bin. She had had no idea that her husband had been cursed by evil witches and wizards years ago. He had managed to keep that part of himself very well hidden. She hadn't found out until their son (no, she had to stop thinking of him as that) had received a strange letter, telling him that _h_e was a wizard and he had been accepted at a school called Hogwarts.

His father had been furious. That was when it had all come out about what Dudley's cousin and his friends had gotten up to when he was a boy. He had said there was no way he was having one of those things in his family and had thrown Derek out of the house. Now, nobody was allowed to mention him any more.

Henrietta thought of her own childhood. Unknown to her husband, this was not her first brush with England's secret wizarding world. She had had a cousin (twice removed), who had also gone to that school. They had always pretended that particular branch of the family had not existed. The parents had been dentists (as if that hadn't made them strange to start with), and their daughter had been downright unnatural. It didn't matter how hard any of them worked at school, none of them could ever measure up to that one. Then, when Henrietta's mother's cousin had started telling everybody that her daughter was a witch (like she was proud of it or something), Henrietta had finally realised that the little show-off was nothing more than a filthy cheat, an embarrassment to the whole family. Luckily, her mother had agreed and, since she had been responsible for organising get-togethers, the cousins had stopped being invited to family gatherings. Henrietta hadn't heard of them in years. When she had met Dudley, she had made certain he didn't find out about the Grangers.

Now it was happening all over again. She had worked so hard to keep her life and home perfect, though there had been odd moments, when Derek was little, which had frightened her. Dudley had started to display some of his intolerance of _that stuff_ by punishing his son most severely, almost as if he thought he could somehow beat it out of him, but Henrietta could have told him, had she realised that it was magic which Derek had been doing, that it wouldn't work.

When the letter had arrived, she had been so afraid that Dudley would blame her, but then she discovered that Dudley's cousin (more closely related to him than Hermione had been to her) had been a wizard and the fear had eased a little. Perhaps they were both to blame. Not that there was much point really, blaming themselves. _They_ weren't the ones who had those genes. It had been a throwback to the bad parts of both their families.

As she closed the lid on the dustbin, Henrietta noticed old Mrs Next Door peering over the fence. She resisted the urge to scurry back inside like a frightened squirrel. It would never do to have the neighbours thinking there was something not quite right about the perfectly normal life she and her husband had worked so hard to build up.

Henrietta glanced around the garden of the house Dudley had inherited from his parents, every flower positioned just right and tended to perfection. A frizzy-looking sparrow, perched on a rose bush, watched her intently; too intently for a normal sparrow. It wouldn't do. Henrietta suppressed another shudder as she shooed it away. Nothing like that was allowed in _her_ garden. As she turned to go back inside, she noticed old Mrs Next Door also heading in, clearly disappointed that she hadn't learnt any juicy gossip about her very boring neighbours. They were the last people to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr and Mrs Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, indeed.


End file.
